


Starlight

by crow (witchfire)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Addiction, Adult Harry Potter, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Anonymous Sex, BDSM, Blood and Gore, Blow Jobs, Bottom Harry Potter, Choking, Denial of Feelings, Divorced Harry, Domestic Fluff, Falling In Love, Frequent Drug Use, Horcruxes, Horror, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mild Neil Gaiman's Sandman crossover, Multiverse, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Powerful Harry, Rough Sex, Successful Snape, Teacher-Student Relationship, Time Travel, Top Severus Snape, Trauma, Weird Magic, eldritch horror, like a lot of it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:26:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 74,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27720689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchfire/pseuds/crow
Summary: Harry Potter has had a fairly decent life so far. Sure, his career was over and his marriage had ended in disaster, but things could be worse. A rather unusual job posting caught his attention and he decided it was time to make a change. Working for his former Potions instructor couldn't be all that bad, right? If only he could figure out where all of these strange memories of an entirely different world were coming from.-Wanted: One potion apprentice. Multitaskers and those with an insatiable need to push the limitations of the human mind and body required. Be prepared to dance on the edge between madness and brilliance. The squeamish and close-minded need not apply.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Comments: 133
Kudos: 149





	1. Whistle Stop

The first thing Harry noticed was that he was warm. It was the sort of heat that melted through chilled skin, easing it away until it was only an uncomfortable memory buried deep in his bones. He could hear the faint sound of a train whistle and it ran a violent shiver down his spine, making him glance outside. Snow swirled against the night through the frosted windows, mostly hidden behind the lacy curtains and various potted plants covering the sill. An older woman with red hair and a kind face set a steaming mug on the table in front of him.

Where was he? Hadn’t he been… someplace else? A different time, a different age. Why did this woman sitting in front of him look so familiar?

That was a ridiculous question. It was because she was his mother, of course.

“Thanks, mum.” He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was six in the morning. Too early. Why did he feel so awake?

She sat down at the table across from him with her own mug, her hair as vibrant as the many plants covering nearly every flat surface. They were in her kitchen, splitting an early breakfast. A plate piled with pancakes sat between them, glistening with syrup and pecans. Two plates scattered with crumbs and dirty silverware were the only evidence that they had even made a dent in the feast. The room smelled like coffee and warm spices, and Harry relaxed for what felt like the first time in years.

“It’s always so good to see you, Harry. So, how have you been?”

A rush of memories. Another redhead woman with tear-stained eyes. Shouting. Hurrying. A small and poorly lit room scattered with trash and dirty clothes. The smell of mildew and stale cigarette smoke and an aching hole where he once kept his heart.

He gripped his ceramic mug, the same glazed texture he’d been holding since he was a little kid sipping hot cocoa before bed. He remembered the first time she gave him a bit of her coffee. He had been thirteen and struggling over a summer essay. That sense of being old enough for such an adult beverage had been just as much of a kick as the caffeine.

Steam fogged his glasses as he breathed into the mug. “I’ve been okay, I guess. Everything’s all moved out now. Ginny stayed at a friend’s the whole time, so… you know. It was easy.”

“And you’re living with Bill now, aren’t you? What’s his place like?” He couldn’t help but smile at her prying, knowing she couldn’t resist the opportunity.

“It’s a little flat in Whitechapel. ” A frown crossed her face. “No, it’s not like that, it’s not too dodgy. The block is mostly empty anyhow.”

The frown persisted. “I just hope you’re being safe.”

“I know how to protect myself.”

“I know you do, honey.” She reached across the table and touched the back of his hand. “It must be nice for Bill to have some company. I can’t imagine how difficult it was for him to be alone.”

Harry’s chest clenched at the word. _Alone_. “Yeah, we’re like two peas in a pod that way.”

“And how is he? Molly has said…” She trailed off to simply look at him. Green eyes shining, so bright they almost seemed to be shot with gold.

“She’s exaggerating. He’s fine. Into some niche things, I guess, but at least he’s making a living with it.”

She stood up and moved to the stove, checking on a bubbling pot before retrieving a wooden spoon from a drawer. She stirred a few times, then frowned and added a few sprigs of rosemary. “Oh, that’s right. He’s- what was it? Solving mysteries?”

He laughed and sipped his coffee. It was too hot, scorching his tongue. “That’s one way of putting it. He’s doing some freelance work with the muggle police. It seems nine times out of ten when they’re stumped on a case it’s due to some magical issue, so he takes care of it.”

“And is that done through the Ministry? It would have to be, wouldn’t it?”

He took another long sip before lying to his mother. “I’m sure it is. But all I know is that it’s complicated stuff.”

“Well, as long as he’s not putting himself in any serious danger. Or you, for that matter.”

“He’s not, mum. And it’s not like I’m out there with him.” At least not that often. He fought off the shiver accompanying the memory of a recent night, of dashing through an empty park at three in the morning, gravel crunching under his boots, trying not to slip on all the blood, pursuing an Erkling loose in muggle London. Who would have thought these things would pop up so often? They had trapped it in a corner and taken it down with a round of stunner spells before celebrating through the night with bourbon and too many cigarettes. It took two nights to drink through what little income that thing’s teeth and hide had earned them. “Oh, that’s right, I think I forgot to mention I have a job interview tomorrow.”

She gasped in excitement. A bit too much excitement for him to not take it personally. “Wonderful! What’s the job?”

“An assistant at some potion lab. I’d actually be working for an old professor- good ol’ Snape. Remember him? I haven’t seen him since I was a third year, I guess he went off to start his own business. Seems it did well enough that he needs to hire an aid.”

She paused her stirring. “I remember him. And I think I distinctly remember you loathing the man.”

“He was pretty mean.” Harry shrugged. “Definitely showed preferential treatment to the Slytherins, but I think he just didn’t like kids. Don’t really blame him for it now.”

It seemed she had begun to say something just as Narcissa burst into the kitchen. “There you are! Don’t tell me you’ve been cooking on your birthday of all days.”

“Guilty as charged!” She stuck out her tongue and resumed stirring with vigor.

“Cooking by hand? Honestly, darling, it’s like living with a house elf.” Narcissa plucked the spoon from Lily’s hand and placed it on the counter. “And while we’re at it, I simply cannot allow you to bake your own birthday cake. We should have ordered something.”

Harry drained the rest of his coffee as his mother swept Narcissa into her arms, peppering her face with little kisses as Narcissa shrieked and swatted playfully at her back. He was glad to see her in love, he really was, even if her partner was among the last people he ever would have expected. But sometimes their blatant affection was too bright - too painfully real. It had been part of the reason why he had understood Ginny asking for a divorce. He had never felt the way toward her that his mother felt toward Narcissa, and he very much doubted Ginny had ever felt that for him either. It was better to let it go, rather than try to force a loveless marriage with children or a dog or something.

He focused on the heat rolling down his throat, the roasty comfort coiling in his belly, and stared out the frost-coated window. Something itched at the back of his mind. A maddening sensation that he was forgetting something desperately important, but it was loose, slippery, like a fading dream. The more he concentrated on the sensation the harder it was to place.

He stood up. “I should probably get going. See how Bill’s doing. See you two later tonight at the party.”

“Oh!” She hurried over with a covered dish, smiling from ear to ear. “Here. I made extra pancakes for him.”

“Thanks, mum.” He kissed her on the cheek before taking the dish, gripping it tightly as he apparated away.

\- - -

He landed a few blocks from home so he could watch the sunrise as he walked. The street was nearly abandoned in the early daylight, tall brick buildings peering down over cracked pavement covered in a layer of dirty snow. It was a mostly muggle neighborhood, businesses and a few apartment buildings coexisting ignorantly among a handful of subtle magical structures.

He trudged through the snow, balancing precariously on big chunks of ice pushed onto the sidewalk by muggle snowplows. He passed an empty lot, an abandoned field protected by worn chain link, picturesque and silent in the midst of the urban sprawl. The rising sun spilled peachy orange light over the long stretch of undisturbed snow. After the lot was a shabby single-story building, a former muggle mechanic shop converted into Harry’s current home. Wicked-sharp icicles dangled from the eaves, nearly long enough to graze the snowbanks pushed against the brick wall.

With a flick of his wand the garage door rolled up and Harry ducked inside. Lights switched on automatically, revealing a large and cluttered storage room. Shelves teetering with junk filled the back half and a muggle vehicle sat in the corner. Piles of crates and cardboard boxes filled with damp and forgotten items served as boundaries on the path toward a workbench and a red door.

Harry paid no mind to the clutter as most of it was not his. He figured it didn’t help to be particular about his surroundings when they were free. At least it was warm inside. Almost too warm. Snow melted off of him, trickling down his face and dripping onto the floor. He dropped his mother’s plate on the workbench before pushing the door open. The unpleasant stench of neglected garbage greeted him as he walked into a dingy kitchenette. It was too humid and dimly lit, thanks to the defective ceiling light. It had been broken longer than Harry had been around, and would certainly remain far after he had left.

“Bill? You here?” he called as he stepped into the larger adjoining room.

The mattress in the corner piled with clothes looked promising and Harry meandered through the trash scattered about the floor to prod at the pile with the toe of his boot. Dirty laundry toppled over to reveal an unoccupied bed. Grimacing, Harry scanned the room, decorative purple string lights dangling from hooks on the ceiling reflecting smartly off the old food wrappers and odd plastic junk scattered about. This room was empty, leaving only the bathroom and Harry had no interest in stirring Bill from whatever he was doing in there.

Keen eyes keeping watch for spare change, he made his way back to the garage to check for mail when he heard a yelp come from the bathroom. He sighed, turning to check on his friend. Pressing his ear to the mildew-spotted door, he heard the faint sound of running water and splashing.

“What’s the story, Bill? What are we up to today?” he asked, knocking briefly.

There was more splashing followed by a long silence, the sound of wet feet slapping on the tile, then a deep voice mumbled something unintelligible.

“Come again, Bill?”

The door swung open and Bill Weasley stood in the frame, panting, damp hair dripping onto a towel wrapped snug around his torso. His nostrils flared as he glared at Harry with wild eyes. “I said WHO’S THERE?”

Harry frowned. It was going to be one of those days.

A moment later the stormy expression on Bill’s face cleared like sunshine breaking through a cloud. “Oh! Hey Harry.”

“Who else?” Harry tried to ignore the concern lighting in his chest. Bill’s skin was pruned and red, as if he’d been sitting in a hot bath for far too long. Probably as long as Harry had been at his mother’s house. It could only mean one thing when Bill spent too much time in the bath. “Having trouble with the locals?”

“The river spirits are at it once again!” Bill turned, delving into the foggy depths of the bathroom. He clutched his towel and perched on the edge of the tub, nearly full to the brim with green water. His voice and movements were too large and exaggerated for the confined space. “They always have so much shit to say. Wouldn’t let me up for ages. Looks like we’ll have work coming soon. Tomorrow even.”

Harry nodded. Work would be good. He hadn’t spotted any money laying about the house and he seriously needed a smoke. “Right, keep me posted. I need some sleep.”

“Close the door on your way out, would you?” Bill grinned before leaning backward into the tub, splashing water all over the already damp floor. Harry nodded and stepped out. Odd ambient music began to pulse in time to Bill’s splashes the moment the door closed.

The music bled into the main room, following Harry all the way to the red door leading to his borrowed garage. The vocals were haunting, the wavering voice sounding far too much like Bill’s deceased wife. Harry hated it when he played that tragic noise, knowing it couldn’t possibly be good for him. Taking the extra pancakes off the table, he slid into the back of the aged vehicle parked beside the teetering shelves and shut the door.

Hedwig hooted a greeting as Harry crawled into bed. The interior had been magically expanded, giving Harry a sizable bedroom. It was somewhat cramped, the ceiling not quite high enough to fully stand, but it fit a bed and all of his things and that was all he needed. A stack of books served as a perfect table for his plate. He broke off a piece of pancake for Hedwig, who scarfed it down before giving his hand an affectionate nudge.

“Any plans for the day, girl?” he asked and she ruffled her feathers before sinking her head down as if falling asleep. “Well, I’ll keep the window open for you, but I’m looking at a day of sleep and studying. Need to figure out how to trick a potions master into thinking I remember anything about the subject.”

He covered the plate before curling into his heavy quilt in hope of finding some sleep. It caught him quickly, sweeping him up in visions of trains speeding down fractal tracks, a shimmering steam locomotive chugging ever on, hurtling onward to spiral into the unknown.

Too soon after he was thrown into a panic at the sound of pounding on the window. He clutched his wand, ready to fight. How could he have fallen asleep in the middle of a battle?

“Harry? Harry! Are you in there?”

It was Bill. Reality crashed around him so abruptly his head spun. Cursing out loud, he felt blindly for his glasses and slid them on his face before crawling up onto his knees to peek through the cracked window. “What time is it?”

“Time?” Bill blinked at him. “It’s time to get to work! The river spirits have pulled through!”


	2. Gnashing

“So what happened?” Harry’s stomach rioted at the sight splattered around the isolated parking lot. There was blood everywhere. It was smeared on every possible surface to the point where it had to have been intentional, and it was fresh. Very fresh. Only a light dusting of snow covered the red splashes. A long fissure yawned open in the pavement. There were at least twelve scattered corpses although it was difficult to get an accurate count considering the level of mutilation.

“Looks like a botched summoning ritual,” Bill replied, absently picking at his teeth with his thumbnail. “Or maybe one gone too well.”

“Seems likely.” Harry shoved his fists into the pockets of his jeans and shot a look at the cluster of muggle cops by the road. “What do they have to say about it?”

“Freddie over there said it was a group suicide,” Bill said with a shrug. “You know he recognized me when I got here? Called me Detective. We’re starting to make a name for ourselves, man.”

“Glad the confoundment is holding but I’m not sure being remembered is a good thing. Last thing we need is the Ministry finding out about us.” Harry shook his head and resumed his examination of the bloody scene. "Something was definitely summoned here. Wonder who they called and why it was so pissed.”

“Could be any number of things. The river spirits were feeling especially keen on this one though, so it’ll be something exciting. Maybe some cursed jewelry got left behind. Look for messages in the blood splatters.” Bill nodded confidently. “You figure there’s any chance the Ministry caught wind of this yet?”

“Oh no, Imbolc is in a few days so they’re plenty busy right now. We have a few hours at least.” The holiday landed precisely between a solstice and an equinox, when the boundaries of reality were extra unstable, making it prime weather for all sorts of magical catastrophes. This would mark four years in a row of him sorting through the scattered limbs of idiotic street magicians. At least this time he wouldn’t have to write up a whole report on the matter now that he wasn’t an Auror.

Hopefully next year wouldn’t involve any of this mess, hence the upcoming job interview. Not that Bill was too fond of the idea.

Bill crouched over what must have been the ceremonial altar, holding a hand out over the wreckage. He seemed more energetic than usual, more keen to get to the bottom of what happened rather than grabbing whatever could turn a profit before heading out. A weird wobbling distortion trembled through the air under his open palm and Harry turned away. Street magic always made him uncomfortable. It was the same sort of unlicensed magic that had turned these poor souls inside-out. It seemed too risky for Bill to go around using it as well.

Harry preferred to stick with general magic. There was no reason to delve into esoteric practices when a simple spell could show him precisely what happened. Not much point in spending half of his childhood at Hogwarts if he didn’t use the skills taught there. Besides, street magic always ran the slightest risk of madness. Everybody knew that.

How that thought startled him, how it ran a cold chill down his throat to coil queasily in his stomach had to do with the fear, of course. This was common knowledge. Street magic - wyrdcrafting, as some called it, was meant for the desperate, the uneducated, anybody with a death wish. Like the people currently scattered all over the parking lot.

He moved further away from the idling cops. His back concealed his wand as he focused on the body at his feet. It was mutilated beyond possible recognition, all of its skin peeled off and left in a nearby heap. He crouched down to get closer to the corpse, pointing his wand over its pallid face as he murmured an incantation.

\- - -

_This wasn’t what they had planned. Not at all. They had the offerings, the proper hour and planetary positioning, the right number of people. She knew the words had been spoken with sincerity and fervor. And something had come, but not who they had invited. She was uncertain who, but instead of the generous and prurient guardian of wealth they had intended, they were met with a violent crack in the pavement which let loose a force of bloodlust and malice._

_And laughter. Far too much laughter. Shrill and cackling, tumbling out of too many mouths for one man._

_He was tall. So very, very tall, and his skin stretched over rippling muscles as if close to tearing. Bright white teeth glittered in the wrong places, grinning down where eyes should be. They gnashed together before spindly fingers crushed around her, crumpling her like a dry leaf._

_“Who did this? Who tainted the circle?” was the last thing she heard before her eardrums ruptured._

_Some of them died instantly. Some were left pinned to the ground, helpless but alive while they watched the others choke on their own blood, the last moments of their lives saved until the end._

_The assailant tilted his head in laughter, eyes grinding as he reached for a headless corpse. Black shadows swooped through the air, plunging into the scattered bodies, flinging blood as he tore apart a lifeless ribcage. Once the body was mangled beyond use he cast it aside and reached for one trembling onlooker, and then another._

\- - -

Harry pulled back partially from the vision with a gasp to take in a bird-eye view of the scene. It was too sickening to stay in the perspective of one of the mutilated bodies, but he had to see what had happened.

It had begun with a steady stream of vapor. Thin, almost transparent, indiscernible from the incense smoke billowing from a metal dish until it was too late. The vapor pushed through a thin crack in the pavement, as innocent as steam from a sewer grate. Then the crack widened. A gap, a sliver in the ground, suddenly wrenched open with a violent splintering sound.

The monster had slowly coalesced into a sturdy form from within the vapor, looking like a tall but ordinary man aside from the eyes for teeth and an almost comically large penis, which he stroked casually while painting the parking lot with blood. Black fire radiated from his figure like a full-bodied halo, flying off in every direction. The air was pungent and sweet, like gasoline fumes mixed with artificial cherry.

He watched as the monster cracked open a corpse like a walnut, shoving his face into it as if feeding on some vital essence before dropping it on the ground. Each corpse was torn open in turn, painting his pale skin red, each one pumping more substance into his solidifying form. Once they were all dead he strode down the empty street into the night, streetlights extinguishing in his wake.

That was enough. Shaking his head sharply, Harry pulled out of the vision and looked for Bill. He found him peering at the corpses from a vantage point near the road. Harry hurried over to him, taking care to not trod on any of the scattered limbs.

“You’re right, it was a summoning gone bad.”

Bill nodded. “Absolutely, but we still need to figure out who. Did you see any symbols?”

“Just a horrifically large cock. Oh, and teeth for eyes."

“Well fuck.” Bill fiddled with his lank hair as he examined the scene. “That could be anybody.”

Harry snorted. “There can't be that many tooth-eyed monsters.”

“I’ll ask around and see what we can dig up." He shoved his hands into his pockets. "Did you see anything else?"

"It looked like it was eating their magic or their spirit or something. One of them accused the others of profaning the ritual. Ceremonial magic isn't my specialty though, so I have no idea what might have gone wrong."

Bill seemed unfazed. "It's a start. Have you eaten?”

“You’re really thinking about food right now?”

He nodded slowly, gazing off into the distance. “I’ll need groceries to give the guardian spirit here a decent offering. Might as well pick up dinner while we’re at it.”

“Any chance this parking lot spirit is paying us in advance then?”

“Ah, no. Well, not technically. There's a pile of galleons over there somewhere but the dead people brought that."

Harry's eyes widened and he scanned the parking lot with renewed interest, seeing a golden glint near the metal barrel. Glancing at the cops, he slipped out his wand and called the coins to his hand before replacing them with magical duplicates. The two made their way out swiftly, dispelling the lingering magic residue in the parking lot to throw the Ministry off their trail, a few quick cleaning charms working wonders on their bloody shoes.

“I could eat.” Harry said, mostly to himself. They may not have found any magical beasts worth selling off to the apothecary, but the galleons made a comfortable weight in his hand.

\- - -

A sack full of groceries did wonders for Harry's mood. He had bought all of the necessities to transfigure some really excellent meals, plus a few muggle snacks that reminded him of his childhood. One of the perks of bachelorhood was that he was picking up all sorts of kitchen spells. He liked to think his cooking could almost put Molly Weasley to shame. Not that he would say it out loud, considering the present company.

Bill was hunched over a rickety old table he had summoned to the middle of his bedroom, which doubled as their shared living space. The table had been stored in a back corner of the garage and was covered in a thick layer of sticky dust and spiderwebs. Four splintered legs perched precariously on top of the rubbish still scattered around the floor. He stared listlessly at the wall, kneeling on a stool, elbows on the table and hands on his cheeks in a childlike manner. Greasy red hair dangled in front of his eyes, swaying with his breath in the otherwise still room. He went into moods like this fairly often, usually dragging Harry down with him. But today was different. Maybe it was the curiosity of having an actual mystery on their hands, but Harry was tingling with life, making it impossible to stay still.

It was a niggling sensation in the back of his mind, a strange sort of urgency telling him that he had forgotten something very important but he could not figure out what it could be.

He supposed it couldn’t be that important if it was so easily forgotten.

He set to work preparing lunch. Decent magical cooking on a budget was surprisingly simple, assuming one had the staples and the know-how. He wondered if he would have appreciated Charms and Transfiguration class more if he had any idea of how much cooking the average adult magician had to do on a regular basis. Unless said adult magician was usually fine with surviving on a single quick meal every day as a form of self-targeted passive aggression.

But Harry was flying high. A simple brown paper bag full of food was the first step toward the rest of his life. It only took a scrap of protein and a couple of vitamin-dense ingredients to transfigure a full course meal and he had far more than that now. He had grand plans involving corn bread and preservation spells. Bill would serve as a test subject, a way to observe the effects of a good meal.

He crinkled open a bag of pork rinds that somehow reminded him of his cousin and those few awkward Christmases his mother had forced him to attend at the Dursley’s house, eyes scanning the mess around him. Popping the greasy crisp into his mouth, he set aside the bag and picked up his wand, firing off a series of spells in rapid succession. The trash on the floor swept into a single neat pile while the stagnant air churned and rushed out an open window. Mold curled off the walls and faded away. Bill's table tilted this way and that as the trash gathered itself, barely disturbing the man from his reverie. Harry grinned as the cleaning spells followed him into the kitchen, the overhead light flickering to life with the barest of magical effort. Yes, today was the day. He was going to sort out his life.

A steaming platter of vegetables and rice placed under Bill's nose snapped him out of his daydream. He blinked a few times and looked up curiously at Harry, who had summoned another stool and pulled it up to the table.

"You… Um, you've been busy," Bill said, the surprise clear on his face.

"It's amazing what some food and some savings can do for morale. Eat up, there's plenty where that came from."

Bill tucked in, energy seeping into him as he ate. His motions became more animated, his eyes more alive. "This is great, Harry! Reminds me of home."

There was a brief uncomfortable silence at the mention of the Burrow, the two men focusing on their plates. "Yeah, well your sister taught me a lot of it. Back when… you know."

"Yeah, Ginny's a good cook. Pity she turned out to be a giant flaming bitch." He said it flatly, as if offering the insult like a form of charity for Harry's self esteem.

"I don't know if I'd go that far. We just had our differences," Harry frowned. His perspective felt jarred. He stared down at his plate and thought about Ginny for a moment.

She was his ex-wife. They had been together for… How many years?

He couldn’t quite remember.

Bill was staring at him, head askew and curious. "You kept me up all night last week ranting about how she ruined your life and now this?"

Had he? Harry had absolutely no memory of it, but he did know that he had a history of unloading his mind on Bill while shitfaced. Yes, that was right. He had been married to Ginny for three years, following a few years of dating right out of Hogwarts. They had been building a life together but now he mostly spent his time hanging out with Bill.

He realized Bill was waiting for a response. "I've been doing some thinking. It's all in the past now, no need to get caught up in old emotions."

Bill nodded. "That's a good mindset to have. Ever wonder what she's up to?"

"No." Harry froze at the sudden thought of Ginny taking Bill's place across the table, smiling and laughing as they shared a meal together. He shook his head to clear the image. That part of his life was over. "But I hope she's alright."

"Oh yes, she's fine. I see them all in my dreams sometimes." Bill waved off the thought. "So about that toothy fellow-"

Harry groaned, pressing his palm to his brow. "Do we really need to talk about that carnage over lunch?"

"But he's really quite fascinating. I asked the sylphs and they told me all about him." Bill's eyes sparkled with excitement before biting into a long green bean.

"What, you asked them just now? I didn't see anything."

Bill waved him off. "Of course not, they're air spirits. You can't see air, can you? Not without smoke or something. But they can see all kinds of shit and they witnessed the whole thing. That group was trying to attract a prosperity god but they weren't specific enough. They left a gap and the wrong sort slipped through."

"And are we talking about a proper group of trained witches and wizards here or street magicians playing around with things they don't understand?"

"Oh come off it, they’re obviously untrained, but I don’t think it’s their fault this happened. It’s easy for mistakes to happen if every single detail isn't accounted for. Spirits are slippery sorts. That's why I never summon when I can just have a chat up here.” He tapped his temple.

"I guess… But why does this matter anyway? We scored enough money at the site to last us a good while. What more is there to do?"

"Oh Harry, the spirits couldn't possibly let me rest while a monster is on the loose!" Bill chuckled heartily before wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

"So you're saying whatever killed those people is still out there and it’s now our problem. Any idea what we could do about it?"

"We hunt it down of course!"

Monster hunting? Harry had helped Bill take down a few dangerous creatures, but none of those compared to what the tooth-eyed man could be capable of. “I don’t know if that’s something I’d be any good at. I saw enough fighting as an Auror and you know how that worked out.”

Not well. That was how it had worked out. His memory pulled forth multiple traumatizing incidents as examples, a long smear of blood and terror and screaming pain, and Harry clenched his fists, focusing on keeping his breathing even and slow as the expression on Bill’s face fell.

"But I need your help, Harry. You're the most fearless person I've ever met.” Bill slid off his stool and wandered toward the bathroom, leaning back against the door. “How about you think it over? I know you’ll come around. Thanks for lunch, it was really something else."

Bill disappeared into the bathroom. A moment later the same agonizingly depressing music he had been listening to earlier floated along with the sound of running water.

Harry felt itchy, still energized by the sensation that he was missing something essential, but plagued by an assortment of memories he had tried to keep locked away. He tidied up their dishes before going outside for some fresh air, feeling considerably better knowing a clean kitchen would greet him when he came back inside.


	3. Wizard Drugs

Lily Evans' kitchen was empty save for the aroma of one of her trademark decadent feasts still roasting in the oven. Laughter led Harry into the living room, where he found her sitting with Narcissa and Remus. They were gathered around a coffee table, his mother and Narcissa arm in arm on one couch, Remus across them on another. The room was lit with a crackling fireplace and dozens of scattered perfumed candles. A bouquet of white lilies dominated the coffee table with a few open bottles of wine surrounding it. They cheered as he walked in.

“Harry! Good to see you!” Remus stood, clapping him on the back before shifting over to make room on the couch.

“Hey, Remus. It’s been a while. Hey Mum, Cissy. Glad to see you all didn’t wait on me to get the party started,” Harry said as Narcissa handed him a glass of white wine. “Thanks. Happy birthday, Mum.”

She looked beautiful in her deep emerald dress. It was her favorite color, embroidered with golden thread depicting tiny animals dancing along the trim. “Thank you, dear. Just look at what Cissy bought me.” She shifted her long hair back to show him a pair of dangling earrings. Thin gold wire depicted a narcissus flower on one side and lily on the other. “Aren’t they ridiculously romantic?”

“They’re gorgeous. Puts my gift to shame.” He retrieved a shrunken box from his back pocket, restoring it to its intended size before handing it to her.

She gave him a dazzling smile and unwrapped his gift carefully, folding and setting aside the wrapping paper before popping open the box. Her eyes turned misty at the sight of a scrapbook and immediately flipped it to the first page. “Oh, Harry. This is wonderful.”

The strangest feeling settled over him as they all poured over the pages of photos from his childhood. It was all so familiar, yet so sublimely odd, as if the memories belonged to somebody else. He drifted into a quiet melancholy as Remus and his mother giggled over old photos he had found of their time at Hogwarts, teasing Narcissa for her ostentatious fashion sense.

It was probably all of the drinking that had him in such a state. The drinking, or maybe that experimental potion Bill had shared with him the other night, but that was only supposed to last a day or so. Maybe it was time to tone things down a bit.

He poured himself another glass of wine. It could wait until later. It was his mother’s birthday after all.

Dinner was fabulous as usual, an intimate affair split between long-time friends. Draco showed up before dessert, bringing more wine and heaps of gossip about their former classmates. While they had never crossed paths much as children aside from the typical Gryffindor-Slytherin posturing, he was surprisingly easy to get along with now that their mothers were both so close. A bit posh, but friendly and a brilliant conversationalist. They all discussed their lives and shared fond memories, and Draco was terribly amused when Harry mentioned his upcoming interview with Snape.

A sour look crossed Remus’s face at the mention of the man. “Are you really sure you want to work for that old bat?”

“He’s not old. Same age as you lot. So, what? Twenty years older than me?”

“Right, so he’s ancient.” Draco laughed as his mother swatted him with a rolled napkin.

“The fact still stands that he’s an insufferable grouch. I should know, I order all of my medications through his shop.”

“It’s supposed to be more of a foot in the door to something better, I guess. Sitting in a laboratory all day sounds worlds better than running around for the Ministry.” Harry rubbed his thumb over a jagged scar on the back of his hand.

“He’s not that bad.” Lily’s voice was soft, staring down into her wine glass before taking a long sip. “I sometimes wonder how life would have gone if I had chosen his friendship over James.”

“You wouldn’t have such a darling son, for one. It all worked out in the end.” Narcissa smiled lovingly at Lily and placed a hand over hers.

“For everybody except Snape,” Remus added. “Poor bastard is probably going to die alone at this rate.”

Narcissa gasped. “Remus! That’s cruel.”

He only laughed before changing the subject, but Harry could plainly see the sadness on his mother’s face. She remained a bit quiet for the rest of the night, her gloom only lifting when she hugged him goodbye.

Harry was about to apparate back home when Draco stopped him. “You’re not turning in already, are you?”

“I didn’t have anything else in mind.”

Draco tilted his head toward the door and Harry followed him outside, giving his mother one last wave. It was freezing out, a bitter wind driving the snow harsh against their faces. Draco scowled and cast a warming charm over them before retrieving a cigarette. He noticed Harry watching him light it and pulled out one more. “Didn’t take you for a smoker.”

“I guess I’ve changed a bit since our school days.” He inhaled deeply, relaxing as the smoke curled through him and eased away his tension.

“In that case, perhaps you’ve changed enough to be interested in going dancing with a Slytherin?”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Wow, Draco. If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were asking me out.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Our mothers are practically married at this point.” He tapped the ash from his cigarette, the strong wind almost snatching it from his fingers.

“They really are, aren’t they? I wonder if that will ever happen.”

“So are you interested or not? There’s a masquerade party happening at one of the best clubs in London and I fully intend to go.”

“A masquerade party? Does that mean I have to dress up?”

“Obviously, but you can borrow something of mine.”

Harry considered it for a moment. It would be nice to get out, to find something to keep him distracted from his pre-interview jitters. Besides, Bill likely needed to be rescued from the bathtub. “Alright, but do you mind if we pop by my place first? I want to check on Bill. He might want to come.”

They apparated together and landed beside Bill’s bed. Harry was glad he had cleaned up before, but Draco still seemed extremely unimpressed by their lodgings if his pursed lips and tense posture were any indication. Bill was thankfully in a rather lucid state, sitting on his bed and paging through a heavy book. He glanced up at the two before flipping to the next page. “Nice to see you’re dating again, mate.”

Harry flushed at the remark despite making a similar joke only minutes ago. “I’m not- Um, I just wanted to see what you were up to. We’re going dancing.”

“You’re more than welcome to come along,” Draco added as he pulled out his wand. Piles of clothes fell onto the floor with a heavy thump. He knelt on the floor and began to rummage through the assortment of colorful garments. “Ah, here it is. Try this on, Harry.”

White trousers dangled from his hand, silver snake print barely visible against the glossy leather. Harry took it apprehensively. “Erm. Is there a shirt to go with it?”

“Yes, yes, I’ll find you something while you put this on.”

He reluctantly shuffled into the bathroom for some privacy. The pants were obnoxiously tight, but they zipped up just fine and melted against him like a second skin. He slipped his boots back on and returned to the room, still wearing his t-shirt.

“Right. Lose that rag and put these on.” A silver chain jingled as Draco shoved it into Harry’s hand, followed by a glittery green half mask.

“A chain? What am I supposed to do with a chain?” He glanced at Bill, who had already changed into his favorite terribly gaudy striped trousers and a billowy shirt, making him look remarkably like a pirate.

“You wear it around your waist, and that longer part goes up to wrap around your throat. It’s charmed to maintain a comfortable body temperature, so you won’t have to worry about being outside in this storm.”

The pain he felt at the concept of going out in such a getup must have been apparent on his face. Bill rushed across the room to slap him on the back. “Come on, Harry! Be a good sport! You can dress as slutty as you want as long as you’re wearing that mask and nobody will ever be the wiser.”

He clutched the chain dubiously as Draco stripped off his clothes without a care for who was watching. His own outfit was similar, with black leather trousers and an elaborate harness that he slipped around his chest with practiced ease. He seemed so confident. Hot, even. Harry dropped his shirt on the floor and put on the chain. Warmth flooded through him immediately, tingling all the way down to his toes.

“So explain to me how I’m supposed to wear this mask over my glasses. I take it neither of you know some groundbreaking vision correction spell.”

“You’ll have to go without.” Draco shrugged, as if it were as simple as just deciding he didn’t need to see. “You should keep your boots on, though. It works.”

“Don’t worry, Harry. I’ll be your eyes!” Bill slung an arm over Harry’s shoulder. “I’m sure it’ll be too dark in there to see much either way. And- oh! Wait! I have something for this.” He hurried into the kitchen and climbed onto the counter to peer into one of the overhead cupboards, returning with a small wooden box. He set it down on the table and it clattered as if filled with glass. “Now listen up. I’m only tagging along on the condition that you two understand that I have a large stash of drugs for these occasions and I am more than happy to share. Pick your poison.”

“What do you have?” Draco asked, peering into the box.

Bill withdrew a small vial full of shifting purple-green liquid and passed it to Harry before digging out a larger amber bottle. “I suggest we all split these. That one will let you see, Harry. In a way. It makes magic visible, directly in the brain instead of through your eyes… it’s hard to explain, but I think it’ll work. And then if we top it off with another little potion we’ll have a perfect cocktail going.”

The vial was marked with a peacock on one side and an ouroboros on the other, a curling P and M entwined in its coils. _Prima Materia_. Severus Snape’s brand. “Well, if my hopeful future employer’s shop made it, it can’t be all that bad.”

“Exactly. This whole box is from Prima. Special ordered.” Bill popped off the cork and took a quick swig. “You just need to splash your tongue with it.”

Harry was no stranger to drug use, but Bill took it to a whole other level and was generally trustworthy when it came to such things. He incorporated various substances into his idiosyncratic magical practice, and while he had a very casual approach to it all, Harry was confident he knew what he was talking about. So he took the vial after Draco took his swig, wrinkling his nose at the bitter flavor, then chased it with something sweeter from the amber bottle.

“So? Take off your glasses and see.” Bill seemed giddy with excitement and Harry had the distinct impression he was being used as a guinea pig.

His vision blurred just as it always did as he set his glasses on the table, but a slow tingle creeped up the back of his neck and crawled over his skull, prickling and sparkly. All of his muscles relaxed at once, almost making his knees buckle. He caught himself against the table and glanced at Bill, then rubbed his eyes. He could suddenly see, eyes opened or closed. There was an outline of vivid, shifting color trailing along Bill’s skin and dozens of tiny flittering bits of light hovering around his head. Draco looked similar without the additional sparkles, and most of their surroundings were drawn over with faint lines. It was like walking through a loose sketch of the room drawn in vivid light. Disorienting, but navigable enough.

“This should work. But you promise you’ll stick with me just in case, right Bill?” He slipped his mask on and a wave of confidence washed over him. Nobody would recognize him under the swirling glittery thing, and who cared if they did anyway? It wasn’t like he had anything to lose.

“Of course! Man, you know I’d never leave you behind.” Bill had put a ghoulish green mask that covered his entire face with a hideous snarl.

“Are we ready to go? Keep in mind, this is a muggle club, so try to behave yourselves.” The two nodded and Draco gave their outfits one last appraising look. “I’ll bring Bill over first and then come back for you.”

The two men popped away and Harry kept himself occupied by playing with his newfound vision. Magic appeared more liquid than he would have expected, a wobbling prismatic mass that shimmered and moved as if breathing, as if possessing its own sentience. It skimmed along his skin, congealing in thick bubbles on his pulse points, as steady and consistent as if it were always there, simply waiting for him to have the eyes to see it. The enchanted chain dangling from his throat practically throbbed with magic, and he almost blinded himself when he cast an experimental _lumos_. It burst out of his wand in an explosion of white. He canceled it in a hurry, his eyes still watering when Draco reappeared in his glittery black mask.

“I wonder how our mothers would feel if they knew what we were getting up to.” Harry laughed and grabbed Draco’s arm. An electric bolt shot through the contact, making them both jump. It seemed the other potion was also kicking in, setting his senses alight.

“Best to not worry them. I’m certain they’d be delighted to know we’re getting on so well.”

They apparated into an empty alley and stepped out onto the sidewalk. It wasn’t snowing deep in the heart of London and the cold wind had no effect against Harry’s enchanted chain. His heart was racing from nerves and excitement by the time they reached the front door, following Draco’s lead as they bypassed the line and went inside, fully ignoring the bouncer who did not seem to notice them.

Bill was waiting for them inside the crowded lobby, his mask clashing wonderfully with his orange hair. He let out a monstrous roar as he lurched onto Harry, wrapping his arms tight around him. Harry’s overly sensitive skin seemed to leap from his bones and he swooned, giggling as Bill saved him from dropping to the ground.

“Easy now, buddy. Let’s go find somebody pretty for you to dance with.”

“What- the fuck- what were those potions?”

“I told you! Heightened magical sensitivity!” He took Harry by the hand and led him down the hall into the central room, rushing past the bar onto the dance floor.

Music crashed over them, making conversation impossible. The place was far classier than the usual dive bars Harry favored, all bright lights and shining chrome, populated with young and gorgeous people in costumes far more elaborate and revealing than his own. Thrumming bass helped drive him back into the upbeat mood he had earlier, shoving aside all of his apprehensions, clearing all thoughts but the captivating beat of the music.

Bill slipped away almost immediately, his red hair bobbing through the crowd. Harry shouted for him to come back, but his voice was lost in the pulsing music. Rainbows scattered over him. It was impossible to tell what was simple lighting and what was magic with so many colors flickering and twirling in spirals over the crowd. Draco took his hand, leading him deeper into the throng as bass rattled up the soles of his feet and into his bones, raining shivers through his brain.

Draco ducked closer, cupping his hands around Harry’s ear, and Harry shivered as the words slid against him, gritty yet smooth, giving him the bumpy impression of a cat’s tongue over fur. “Looking for a man or a woman tonight?”

“Uh-”

A beam of white light poured over his head and his mind slipped free from his body, the acidic taste of that peacock potion prickling the back of his tongue. Every dancing body in the crowd felt connected, hovering in the captive trance of bass and spinning shimmering color. Draco vanished, reappeared, flickering in the strobing light, his white hair a spotlight beside a valentine-like woman dressed in pink with enormous heart-shaped sunglasses, but then she was gone, they were gone, he was flying away on the music.

The valentine woman reappeared with the song change, closer now, her sunglasses dangling from her low-cut shirt. He saw a glimpse of her eyes and his heart stopped. Crying out, he stumbled backward. It was as if his heart had been ripped right out of his chest and replaced with hot copper and mindless screaming panic. He fell into somebody and they laughed, patting his shoulder and helping him up, and he tilted forward, toppling against her. Bright teeth stared down at him, grinding in her sockets.

This was it. He was going to die here.

“Ask her what its name is!”

He could have sworn he heard Bill call to him over the crushing volume of the music, but that was impossible. He spun around, but Bill wasn’t there, and when he looked back she wasn’t either. A rippling wave of bass rushed through the floor and the lights went black, trembling back too-bright on strobing light and Harry needed to get out of there. He pushed through the crowd. Each time he brushed against another body he felt as if a piece of his soul had been torn away and snapped up in those dreadful white eyes. Gasping for air, he reached the door and broke free into the night.

It was a brand new world outside the club. The sky was perfect, beautiful, dotted with tiny bright lights like little alien arms reaching down to embrace him and he reached back. Starlight bled down from above and he basked in it, his mind spiraling upward on the crisp air.

A hand touched his shoulder. “Are you alright?”

He looked up in shock, skin rippling at the contact. It was a big black bird masquerading as a man, hooded eyes peering through a feathered half mask. He was positively drenched in glittering golden magic. It wafted from his body like radiant heat, making the edges of his form hard to discern.

“Wow, you’re really tall for a bird.”

Did he say that out loud? It was hard to tell when his thoughts were so loud. The bird cocked his head as if intrigued and guided Harry away. He was vaguely aware of other people pushing past them, muttering something about holding up the line as if out of all of the places in the whole wide world they had to be _right there_. His boots crunched over mushy snow and litter, kicking aside a half-empty can. It spiraled away, a true Fibonacci masterpiece leaking brown and sticky over the sidewalk.

Harry wondered if the bird could tell he was high. He had taken Harry by the hand and guided him to a side alley. They leaned against a worn brick wall and Harry looked back to the stars, but they were gone, smothered by the busy light and sound of London. He looked up at the bird instead but he seemed lost in thought.

“So… what are you, then?” Harry asked.

The bird glanced at him, once again cocking his head but this time the light caught under his mask just right. Harry’s blurred vision helped the magical outline reveal that his human disguise was actually much better than he had first thought. He had wide but thin lips barely visible under the mask’s long beak. Dark hair was caught in the long feathers concealing the upper half of his face. Everything about him seemed rather dark, but his black eyes reflected a neon sign overhead, which bathed him in flickering magenta.

“I could ask you the same question. I thought you were my date at first, but I was wrong. It was ridiculous of me to even agree to come to this awful place.” He stared back over the crowd and Harry felt a twist of compassion. He knew what loneliness looked like and it was rolling from his shoulders in heavy waves, rippling through the magenta-stained golden magic.

“Sorry. I’ll help you look for them if you want some company.”

“Oh, that’s alright. I had given up on waiting right before I saw you.” The bird-man… man-bird… the man took out a shiny metal cigarette case and Harry’s eyes tracked it. It snapped open and he withdrew two hand-rolled cigarettes. “Care for a smoke?”

“Anything interesting in it?”

“A fair question, but unfortunately these are simple homegrown tobacco.”

“Oh. Neat. I’m used to muggle brands these days-” Harry bit his tongue but he caught the flash of recognition at the word. Of course the man was magic. He was radiant with it.

“I have other options for more discerning tastes.” He tucked the cigarettes between two long fingers before closing the case and opening it again. The rolling papers were now a rainbow of colors. “How about a tobacco-dragon’s blood hybrid, to keep you wide awake for another twelve hours? Or would you like a cannabis-psilocin blend? I have a few of those at different potencies. Or the blue ones, but those are… experimental.”

“I like experiments.”

“So do I.” He gave Harry a crooked smile that shot through his chest like a particularly fluffy arrow. Harry tucked the regular cigarette behind his ear and squeezed the blue one between his lips. He patted at his thighs for a lighter and realized the skintight pants Draco had forced on him didn’t even have pockets. The man held up a finger. “Allow me.”

A tiny flame danced on his fingertip and Harry ducked in, sucking on the joint until the tip glowed orange. He took a few long drags, surprised at the pleasant fruity flavor, before grinning at his mysterious stranger. “You’re quite the show off with your wandless magic.”

“I aim to please,” he responded dryly before lighting his own. “Now these, not that you asked but I should warn you nonetheless, are an attempt at imitating an ancient blend of entheogenic herbs, along with a few self-made substances. The goal was to mimic the state sought after by a civilization of star worshipers that once lived in Göbekli Tepe. So the intended effects are high energy, a strong connection with nature, and an ecstatic state of spiritual bliss. It will kick in within a quarter of an hour and last approximately twenty-four hours, decreasing significantly in intensity after the first eight.”

“I. Hmm. Yes.” His head was already spinning, the smoke compounding on top of what Bill had given him earlier. “Thanks much for sharing.”

The mask wavered on the man’s face, turning him avian once again. “I saw you admiring the stars, so I thought it seemed appropriate.”

“That gives me an idea…” Harry gripped his hand and apparated them away.

They landed on a flat rooftop, the bird sputtering in astonishment at their sudden teleportation. A thin layer of frosted snow crunched under their feet. It was incredibly dark save for the wide expanse of stars above, only the faintest sliver of the moon shedding any additional light. The bird flicked his fingers and a few glowing orbs appeared, bobbing on the air like tiny lost jellyfish. Harry watched them in fascination, wondering if the bird had made them on purpose or if it was some odd side effect. Either way, they illuminated the irate angle of his lips. “Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to apparate under the influence?”

“Yeah, but… just look. This is my favorite place for stargazing. Besides, I think the potion my friend gave me earlier gave me special powers.”

The bird coughed lightly. “Yes, potions are known for that.”

They stood on top of a high building on a hill, long-abandoned and facing a snowy meadow. Behind them was a flat wall covered in faded graffiti and a single door. Overhead was an explosion of celestial activity. Each star was an eye, a heart, a living moving thing dancing through time and space to brush light over their faces. The atmosphere was drenched in deep symbolism. Whispered messages beckoned from above, each one making Harry promise he would delve into their secrets once he was sober, only to be forgotten as he moved to another.

The bird spoke. “It’s perfect. Where are we?”

“An abandoned building near where I grew up.” The bird sat down in the snow but Harry was too energized to join him. His limbs were trembling with potential energy and he felt as if he were hovering inches off the ground. They stared up as the stars began to sing and he whispered, “Their music makes me want to dance.”

“You’re dressed for it, aren’t you?”

He had forgotten about Draco’s borrowed clothes. The tight white leather pants were like a second skin and the silver chain wrapped around his waist and throat was working perfectly to maintain a comfortable body temperature. His skin was otherwise exposed to the winter air. All the better to soak up the celestial lightshow. He considered taking off his mask but wanted to preserve some modesty.

Meanwhile, his companion looked like a blackened plague doctor, complete with the long-beaked mask and a doctor’s coat. All of those tiny buttons. Harry supposed he knew some wandless trick for them. He knelt down to fiddle with one of them, rolling the cold metal between his fingers, and then he grinned wryly up at the doctor-bird and ripped it off his coat.

“I’m keeping this.”

Long fingers traced the small tear in his coat, but he didn’t seem upset, only further fascinated. “Whatever for?”

“Just a token to remember my favorite mysterious stranger.”

The bird hooked Harry’s body chain, tugging it slightly. “And what token are you offering in return?”

Harry retrieved the cigarette still clinging to his ear. “How about a smoke?”

The bird seemed genuinely surprised and then he was laughing and Harry joined in, the stars laughing with them as a wild hysteria took over. Harry fell onto his back and rolled, bumping into the bird and pulling him down. His mask slid up, revealing a face that Harry could scarcely see but it was human enough and mostly beakless and that was good enough for him as he reached up and clumsily mashed their faces together. Glitter scraped his cheeks as his own mask was shoved aside and a shared heat passed through their mouths, crackling bursts of pleasure shooting through their limbs as they touched. Every sense was heightened, electric. Soft linen and cool buttons pressed against his skin and then the wandless trick set that aside and they were two bodies intertwined in the snow.

A hard cock was pressing against his own, only a thin stretch of leather between them, and he ached to touch and taste and feel it. He had never done this before. He had hardly touched anybody but Ginny and never with a man, but his impulses screamed at him, or perhaps it was the stars. They sang to him, urging him forward. _Yes. This is it. You want this._

He had never wanted anything more in his life and seeing the physical presence of the man’s own need was so excruciatingly _good_. It was already out, straining for his touch and so he took it. He squeezed it in his hand and relished in the resulting deep moan, then squeezed it again and lifted his hips so his tight pants could drag down and release him. Confident hands pushed him onto his back and then hot wet warmth sent his vision spiraling far, far away. He hovered over them like a hungry ghost, watching the man take his cock into his mouth, and twitched back into his body at the sensation of a skillful tongue. His back arched and he closed his eyes as the stars swept him away.

They moved together on the rooftop, dancing to celestial music, blind to everything but sensation and color. He came close to orgasm and that voice dripped over him like honey and cream, smooth as soft leather pressed down with heavy hands. “No, not yet. Let it build.”

He gasped, twitching, fighting the rising heat until it almost overpowered him, only for the man to move back, to tug at his ear with a harsh whisper. “Wait, wait. It will feel so much better if you do.”

It happened countless times, each wave ending just before he fell over the edge, each time the man urging him to wait just a little longer. He finally came while tasting the man’s cock, thrusting greedily into a warm mouth, a supernova explosion that swept him into a vision of pure white limitless light, but he was ready again so quickly with electric heat rushing through his veins.

He even tried to open himself, to let a finger push into him, but it was too intense and frightening. He rolled away, terrorized by guilt and fear only to be met with warm patience and an infinity of kisses, bringing him back to calmness with words of reassurance. It dissolved there into something deeper, slower. They resonated together, the boundary between their bodies gone, just one pure light shining in the night among the stars.

And then they fell asleep, tucked so far away that no dreams of war or fear or reality-bending train tracks could find them.

Harry woke up to the rising sun. He slowly freed himself from the man’s tangled limbs and took the opportunity to better study his face. He looked oddly familiar, but Harry couldn’t quite put a finger on why. Taking great care to be as quiet as possible, he crouched down to write a brief message in the snow when the realization loomed over him.

He hadn’t seen that face in… what, over ten years? He wasn’t scheduled to see it again for a few more hours. Not until his upcoming job interview.


	4. Decisions

He was still high when he left the rooftop in a panic, far too high to be apparating but he did anyway and collapsed into a pile next to Bill’s bed. Bill was fast asleep, covered in bite marks and glittery body paint. The bites were raised and angry, with broken skin and smeared dried blood, and they were everywhere.

Harry stared up at him, his limbs a tangled mess on the floor, and felt a screaming sense of helplessness. It was all unraveling. His mind, his world, his prospects, and now even his friend’s skin. Unpeeling, unfolded, bright red as sharp and vivid as his own horror. Pressing his arm into his teeth he fought to keep in the sound building deep in his lungs. A twitching and fretful breath heaved out of him but it was impossible to tell if he was making any noise. Not while caught in the steady pulsing waves still holding his mind buoyant and far, far away from the dry shores of sobriety. But Bill continued sleeping so he continued his tantrum. Yet he was oddly aware of his outburst, like an objective observer letting his body run its course, purging whatever chemicals needed to be shoved out on hot breath and sweat and tears.

The body told him what the mind already knew. There was no way he could possibly show his face at that interview. It was all over, all ruined. He had been so excited, so convinced the job would be the key to improving his life. But it was all over before he even had the chance to try.

Unless…

It had been so dark on the roof, even with the luminescent magic guiding his sight. All hazy lines and shadows, occasionally reflecting colors like oil on water and nothing more. He couldn’t have possibly recognized Snape’s face until the sun came up, and Harry had left without being seen. Maybe he could get away with this. Maybe Snape wouldn’t recognize him. It had been over a decade anyway.

Maybe it would all be alright.

That left only one other issue - he was still incredibly high. But surely that meant Snape would be as well. They would be equally disadvantaged.

Joints clicked and muscles stretched like plastic beads sliding down taut string and he stared up at the ceiling, the purple lights dangling along the wall shining in spangled patterns that smeared into sketchy blurs without his glasses. Those were… somewhere. A weak hand drifted up, willing a silent and wandless accio. Maybe it was the chemical influence, but his magic leaped in response and slapped his glasses into his open palm.

The world shifted into clarity, which only brought him more concern. Maybe he was simply too blind to tell who had been behind that bird mask and anybody else would have known immediately. If that were true then surely Snape had seen his face. Not well enough to identify him as the son of Lily and James Potter - that certainly would have put a stop to everything - but well enough to be able to identify him the following day.

There was only one way to find out.

“You alright, mate? You’re making a whole lot of noise down there.”

Damn, and he thought he had been doing so well. “Yeah… I-”

Bloodshot eyes peered at him over a pillow. “You should check in with Draco. He was up all night worrying over you.”

“What, really?”

Bill grinned and ran a hand through his matted hair. “Nah, we both figured you found somebody to keep you entertained for the night. And he said you can keep the outfit.”

“That’s nice... I liked being something else for the night.”

A hand caught his jaw and he glanced up to see Bill staring inquisitively down at him. “Damn, mate. Your pupils are blown the fuck out. Are you still high?”

“Yeah, erm. I had an interesting night.” He pulled back from his grasp.

He rolled onto his back, twitching his fingers in an attempt to summon one of those jellyfish lights Snape had conjured. A little blob pushed out the tip of his index finger and smacked into the ceiling with a wet pop. It wobbled, shimmering in the early morning light leaking in through a curtain, which refracted into dozens of prismatic rays. Bill seemed to be completely unaware of it, too busy rolling a joint with red-stained fingers.

One of the rays shifted directly into his eye, as bright as a knife, and he suddenly felt very ill. Lurching to his feet, he stumbled out of the room, barely making it under the rolling garage door in time to heave the contents of his stomach.

A glittery purple and green mess splattered over the sidewalk. It sizzled under the too-bright sky, a light haze of smoke lazily drifting upward. It took the worst of the dizziness and fear with it, allowing clarity to slowly trickle back into his mind. The sun felt good on his skin and he smiled at the thought of the solar system’s very own star bathing him in its yellow light. A bit too much light on too much skin, come to think of it. He realized he was naked and scurried back inside before anybody saw him.

Fuck, had he left his boots on the roof? He needed those.

He eased past Bill on his way back inside, who was now cooking something on their tiny two-burner stove, joint dangling from his lips, bare feet and pale legs peeking out under a short silk robe. “Could have told me I lost my pants.”

Bill shrugged and cracked an egg into the pan. Ash fell from the joint onto the back of his arm, slumping into one of his wounds. Magic skated along his skin, a warning that Harry still wasn’t fully sober. “It suits you. Especially with all of those scratches on your back. You make a friend last night?”

“Something like that.” He tracked down some clothes, unsure if they were his or Bill’s.

“You hungry?”

It turned out that he was, though his stomach seemed to have no initial opinion on the matter. After taking a first tentative bite, he attacked his meal as if he had been starved for days. The food made him feel even better than vomiting had, more grounded and aware of his body. They ate in silence and he gathered their plates and brought them to the sink. “So, what are you up to today?”

Bill was perched on his stool, thumbing through the book he had retrieved from his bed. He crossed one leg over the other and Harry saw more red marks leading further up his thigh. They made his head spin back into a panic so he looked away. “Monster hunting. I didn’t get nearly enough information last night. We’re going to have to hit the streets and do some actual investigating.”

“Count me out on that one.”

“Oh, that’s right… You’re trying to get a respectable job today, aren’t you?” There was a hint of scorn in his voice.

“Yeah. But I’m not too sure that’ll be happening now.” It was difficult to tell whether the subject or Bill’s bite marks unnerved him more.

“Why’s that?”

“Well. Um. Looks like I botched the interview before I could even go to it. Possibly, anyway.” He trailed off, his thoughts lingering on Snape’s sleeping face. “I had sex with the interviewer last night. Not sure if he recognized me, but if he did then he definitely knows too much about me to think I’d be a good hire now.”

“Wait. ‘He’?” Bill broke into a wide grin. “I knew it! Oh, Draco owes me money.”

Harry’s face burned. “Yeah, it was… unexpected.”

“So you’re telling me you had crazy drug-fueled sex with Snape? That’s the guy who’s interviewing you today, isn’t it?”

“Yep.” Harry buried his face in his hands, mumbling through his fingers, “But I’m kind of counting on him not recognizing me, thanks to the masks.”

Bill laughed. “Imagine living with that secret. Do you think you could work for him after that? Without telling him?”

“If the pay’s good enough? I don’t know, mate. It’s all fucked now. And, well…”

“Well what? The man is no idiot. You know he turned around after teaching and published dozens of books, yeah? Real special, wyrd shit. Went on to start one of the biggest specialty potion shops in Europe. He’s basically famous because he’s so clever. He’s going to see right through you. You’d be better off dropping it. Had a great night, screwed things up a little bit, but it’s not the end of the world. Time to move on.”

“…Yeah.” But he didn’t want to move on. He had felt a real connection last night. Surely the drugs had a lot to do with it, but he clearly remembered that moment when he had become frightened and his mind had scattered into a million pieces at the thought of letting his partner down, only to be met with such perfect compassion. It was like their souls had merged. He had never felt such intimacy before and it made him feel as if he were falling in love, just a little bit. The thought was both thrilling and alarming. And come to find out Snape was even more brilliant than he had assumed? Downright terrifying.

“Well, hey. Maybe the toothy guy will decide to possess you and then you can have a whole different problem to worry about!”

That snapped him out of his daydream. “Possess me? That’s not funny.”

“Wasn’t meant to be. This thing is a serious problem and I think it’s up to us to stop it. Skip the interview. Go get yourself cleaned up, have a nap, write him a little love note if you have to, and then we’ll regroup and figure out our next step.”

Harry wanted to protest, but he knew he needed a shower and a nap and he still had hours left to make a decision. He dragged himself to the shower and stood motionless under the pounding heat, arms lax and dangling. The counter-clockwise motion of the water swirling down the drain hypnotized him. He stayed for an infinity, aeons passing as he came to understand why Bill sometimes lived in the tub. It took a great deal of willpower to drag himself away, and when he stepped out his skin was red and pruney.

The room was empty when Harry returned, which was odd considering Bill rarely went anywhere without him. He padded into the garage and didn’t see him there either. A clock assured him that he had plenty of time to take a nap, which was a relief considering passing out on the roof had not been remotely restful, so he slid into the back seat of the rusty car. Glad to have plenty of room to spread out in his warm and familiar bed, he gave Hedwig a scratch on the head and flung himself full-bodied into his blanket nest.

Sleep rarely came so easily on hallucinogens, but it snatched him up with greedy hands and shoved him into a dream. It was the train again, those spiraling tracks going round and round like water down the shower drain, like the round glowing burners on the stove. He plunged through them, an arrow through a target, ripping through the center into the great wide sky beyond.

Things like time and decisions made a bit more sense. He was the observer, the eyes flying down a million tracks, watching countless lives through infinite lenses. A simple choice could change everything, did change everything, leaving rippling effects further than his mind could ever comprehend with mortal reasoning or language.

He thought of all of the people waiting on him when Voldemort had killed him. Were they still waiting in some far-off place, some long-forgotten time? Would that Ginny have grown to resent him just as much as this one?

Would he ever get to find out?

Sleep ejected him from its realm as quickly as it had taken him in, taking most of the memory of his dream with it. His mouth was parched when he woke and his muscles felt as strained as if he had spent the whole night running. Hedwig hooted softly when he stirred and he followed her gaze to see an envelope sitting on the foot of his bed. His name was scrawled on the front in his mother’s handwriting. Too dazed to read it immediately, he slipped it into his pocket.

Stumbling out of the car was a process, but once he was up on his feet functioning seemed altogether manageable. The slightest traces of not-quite-sobriety crackled behind his eyes. If anything, his state of mind gave him an extra bit of confidence, a sparkle to his step that would help convince him to actually go on and make his first Big Choice.

The emphasis on that concept seemed incredibly important.

Heavy smoke wafted through the kitchen and filled the main room, smelling like cannabis and something else, something bright and fruity. Bill was lounging on his bed with a long wood pipe in hand, gnawing on its stem as he casually turned the pages of a heavy book propped up against his knees. Harry sat down on the table, swinging his legs as he waited for Bill to finish reading his passage.

“So what’s it going to be, Harry? You going to go face the greasy git or help me stop this monster?” He held the pipe out toward Harry like the devil’s black book, implying instant gratification if only he’d give in and join him.

He hesitated. “Can’t we just do it after I get back?”

“No, man. I need you committed! This is dangerous business and you have to be focused. We’ve been playing pretend for too long and now it’s time to step up and actually do something! So, are you with me?”

Bill made a fair point. They had been living together for a while now. Days trickled into each other in a hazy blur of drinking and reckless behavior done in the name of scoring a galleon or two. It gave time a loose and silky feeling. Their talks of being professional freelance investigators, of starting up their own business and taking their work beyond basic poaching, quickly turned into days upon days of succumbing to depression and inactivity, occasionally spurred by Bill’s inconsistent encounters with the spirit world.

Harry had assumed their talk of taking action in such a dangerous way was just that- talk. Yet another type of escapism. Discussing grand adventures was almost as fulfilling as actually having them, and it was far easier. They were both caught in the mires of lost love and it was far too easy to seek out escapism together, especially considering Bill’s fascination with street magic, which apparently called for a near-endless parade of mind-altering drugs. He had dabbled in it before Fleur’s death thanks to his previous work in Curse-Breaking, where the knowledge was necessary, if only to keep himself alive, but he threw himself in head first after she had passed away. Despite what had happened. Despite that it had been street magic that had killed her.

It didn’t make any sense to Harry. The incident would have been enough to make him wary of unregistered magic if his time as an Auror hadn’t done that for him. He would have thrown aside anything if it had killed a loved one, but Bill claimed he had accepted his mistake and moved on. And this was how Bill had chosen to live. Harry had fallen into complacency, willing to drift along in his meandering wake. It was time to get real.

His swinging legs stilled where they dangled off of the table. "I don’t know, Bill. I really should get ready for my interview.”

“Why, so that monster can keep killing people while you make a fool of yourself in front of your new boyfriend? This thing is dangerous, man.” Bill made a dismissive sound, sitting up in his bed with narrowed eyes.

Harry stared down into his lap, fiddling with his fingers. The tip of one thumbnail caught against the other, back and forth, flicking up and down in a rapid tempo. “You know I hate this as much as you, but maybe we should call the authorities? Or even your dad. I bet he knows somebody that could take care of this.”

Bill jumped up from his bed and paced over to the window, puffing vigorously at his pipe. He stared outside for a long moment before responding, sunlight cutting his silhouette against the hazy smoke. “Good luck at your interview, Harry. Maybe it’ll be your ticket to leaving me behind.”

“That’s not-” Bill fled into the bathroom. He slammed the door shut and a moment later that agonizing Fleur-like music floated along to the sound of running water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to Mousewrites and Irrealia!


	5. Prima Materia

Harry couldn’t stand to be home any longer, but it was almost time to get ready anyway. Most of his clothes were stored in the trunk of his car and he sorted through a few stuffed pieces of luggage until he found something appropriate. The twill pants he already had on would do, but he swapped out his t-shirt for a button-up and a suit jacket. It occurred to him that he was dressing up to meet with Snape. The thought was oddly thrilling, so he opted to put on his nicest robe over everything else, guessing that the man had a preference for traditional wizard clothing.

Sure, he might not be able to trick him, but maybe he could at least make a good impression. It was worth trying.

He apparated a few blocks from the potion shop in order to waste some time wandering along Diagon Alley, window shopping casually while trying to not dwell on his guilt. Everything was frosted over with magical snow, sparkling bluish-white and a bit too heavy to be the natural thing. A large clocktower near Gringotts helped him keep track of the time. He had over an hour to spare, so he decided to take advantage of the time by perusing books on current potion brewing techniques at a bookstore. Any little bit would surely help.

He found a quiet bookstore down a side street and plunged into the jumbled rows of shelves. The collection was only loosely organized, but he eventually found the potion brewing section. It was rather intimidating how many of the more interesting titles had Snape’s name embossed on the cover. He took the prettiest one, which was green with a horned man offering a nude woman a flower. Casting a spell to alert him when it was time to go, he wedged himself into a corner and read standing up, sinking into an engrossing description of the historical use of some of the world’s most poisonous plants.

And then it was time. He put the book away, ignoring the shopkeeper’s irritated glare at his free reading as he left for the potion shop with fifteen minutes to spare, his heart fluttering wildly in his chest.

The shop was a quaint brick warehouse nestled on a back street a short walk from the high street. The artificial snow from Diagon Alley didn’t quite extend to this block, and if anything it seemed significantly more like spring around the warehouse. The air was humid, as if he were approaching a greenhouse. He supposed he could be, considering the windows lining a large section of the roof. “Prima Materia” was printed on a sign over the door in an elaborate script and the iron doorknob was warm to the touch. He stepped inside to the jingle of bells.

It was warm and smelled fresh inside, like rain and greenery. Magic gleamed against every surface in every possible color, dazzling him as his eyes adjusted to the change in light, gleaming iridescent like prisms reflected on a dewdrop. His lingering drug-induced awareness of how magic looked and felt kicked into overdrive, now surrounded by vibrant life. It was deeply impressive and distracting, taunting him, as if saying _“you’re still high, you’re still so high and you’re going to fuck this up.”_

He blinked hard and the illusion vanished, leaving him in a crowded greenhouse. It was obvious that he was still under the influence of Snape’s experimental joint, but its effects had taken a subtle, almost cunning turn. Was Snape high too? He had to be. It occurred to him that Snape had purposefully taken drugs the evening before at least one job interview. Was that ordinary behavior for the man?

“What do you want?” A harsh voice startled him, and Harry realized a woman was hunched over a hedge by the far wall. He hadn’t noticed her, camouflaged as she was behind the many potted plants lined up on long bench tables, the shelves upon shelves of glittering glass vials lining the walls. Everything was so green. Verdant. Her long tangled hair dripped off of her shoulders like brown ivy.

“I’m here to see Mr. Snape. We have an interview scheduled for three.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, not wanting to touch anything under her glare.

“You’re early. Just wait somewhere.” She immediately returned her attention to the hedge, trimming it aggressively with a pair of floating garden shears.

A velvet couch framed by tall potted plants in the corner seemed suitably out of the way. Light poured onto it through a nearby window, casting a square patch claimed by a black cat curled in a tight ball. It opened one green eye in a narrow slit, watching him carefully as he sat down. He offered out his hand for a sniff and it stretched contentedly before returning to its nap. Its fur was warm from the sun, tiny rainbows reflecting on black sheen. He focused on keeping his breath steady and calm while stroking its fur, trying to not fret over the many things that could go wrong in the interview.

He didn’t have to wait long. Snape strode through a door, looking around a moment before spotting him. “Hello, Mr. Potter. I’m ready when you are.”

There was no mistaking that this was the same man, even if he didn't have that shimmering gold magic still oozing over his skin. He wore a similar sweeping robe with all of those tiny buttons, the same black hair pulled back, a few loose strands framing an angular face. His eyes were dark, ringed with shadows, looking thoroughly exhausted, but his expression was quick and alert. Most of all, he had the same voice. It was rich and sharp, a chocolatey baritone that rolled over each word as if savoring it. Harry’s heart fluttered with nerves and excitement and- well, with something.

Those same gorgeous hands beckoned him forward and Harry followed, helplessly trapped in his orbit. Electric anticipation rushed through him as they entered what had to be Snape’s office. It was more of a workspace than anything, all neatly organized and minimalist, every object likely serving some purpose. The walls were white, leading down to a perfectly smooth black floor, the tables and instruments all various metallic shades. Three large cauldrons took up the left wall, each simmering a different vibrant color. The air smelled sharp and acidic, almost like vinegar. Framed diagrams covered the walls, detailing different herbal properties or brewing techniques, and a jungle of hanging plants dangled over a desk. Harry wondered if this was where he wrote his books.

He took a seat opposite Snape, whose chair was positioned behind a large oak desk and seemed to be the one thing in the room specifically designed for comfort. It was covered in burgundy leather and Harry drifted off into a brief daydream of the man sitting back to pour over a favorite book after hours. Was he a whiskey drinker or did he prefer wine?

Circe, what was wrong with him? Why was he so fascinated by this man? Sure, what little he could remember from last night mostly had to do with the incredible sex they had, but that didn't mean he needed to be so obsessed. The way magic still dripped off of him like golden honey was captivating, beautiful, made him want to see if he tasted nearly as sweet as he looked-

“So, I see you were a student of mine back at Hogwarts.” The sudden voice startled him.

“Yes, sir. But not since my third year.” Oh, he was such a fool for coming here. He was going to be found out and then it would all be over. Laughed at and sent away. Snape had hardly glanced up from Harry’s resume to look at him yet, but when he did it would be over.

“I see. And why exactly are you interested in working here? I see your current employment involves… freelance monster hunting? That is a remarkably different trade than what we do here.” Snape glanced up from his resume and Harry tensed under his scrutiny. He looked so tired. “You are Lily and James’s son, are you not?”

That wasn’t the recognition Harry had been expecting. “Yes, but I hope you won’t hold that against me.” He flinched at the unintentional innuendo. “I take after my mother more than my father, I mean. And, um. I’ve heard stories, but my father and I are not close.”

“Noted. I admit I was already aware of your relation before I invited you to this interview. I am frankly quite surprised to see James Potter’s son bothering with my business. I was curious to know why you would possibly want to work here. However, your mother was quite the talented witch when I knew her.” He leveled his gaze at Harry for a moment, as if measuring some unknown quality. Harry would have given anything to know his thoughts. “I am looking for an additional employee to help maintain our complicated brewing schedule, but I am primarily looking for an apprentice. One who could be trusted with valuable information. How can I know you are willing and able to protect my secrets?”

Harry considered the question for a moment. Now would be the perfect opportunity to confess to his identity, that if he could keep what Snape got up to at muggle nightclubs a secret he could keep anything else hidden as well. But what would that matter? It would likely only embarrass Snape and that would definitely weaken his chances. He backed down at the last moment. “Well. I understand you used to be close to my mother. She would never forgive me if I did anything to betray you. Besides, I’d be willing to swear an oath if necessary.”

Oh Merlin, Snape was staring at his mouth. He tried to not panic, rubbing his hands nervously on his thighs, but then Snape cleared his throat and looked away. He almost looked nervous. Was this it? Had he recognized him?

“That seems a fair answer. Thank you, Mr. Potter. I will consider your application. You may expect to hear back within a week after I have met with all of the other applicants.” He stood up and offered his hand.

“O-oh. Thank you, sir. It was a pleasure to meet with you.” Damn him and his accidental innuendo. He reached over the desk to shake Snape’s hand, breath catching at the electric tingle passing between their palms.

“The pleasure was all mine. Thank you for meeting with me, do have a good day.” So blunt. So dismissive. This wasn’t promising at all.

And with that, it was over. The woman ignored him completely as he hurried toward the door and something about her presence set off a flash of anger. He truly hated being ignored. So he bypassed the door and returned to the sofa to scratch the cat on the head. “Pardon me, ma’am? What’s this cat’s name?”

She looked up as if genuinely surprised to hear another person’s voice calling from across the room. “That one’s Tektite, but we call her Teki. Isn’t that right, Teki-tek-tek?”

Teki stood up and stretched languorously, purring loudly as Harry scratched between her shoulders. She bumped her head against his hand and he smiled, “Nice to meet you, Teki. You as well, ma’am.”

The woman grunted a response, once again enthralled in her plants. Feeling somewhat foolish and petty, he headed out the door.

Damn but he really needed a drink.


	6. Coincidence

Harry headed to the Leaky Cauldron, shoulders hunched and hands shoved in his pockets, kicking little rocks as he passed them along the way. It was a beautiful and sunny day, and he would have preferred some real snow. A storm. A blizzard. Something to white out this humiliation and horror and regret that he hadn’t just spoken up and told Snape who he was and “damn the job, let’s go get a drink together”.

Why hadn’t he done that? He had the perfect opportunity to talk to Snape, to really go after him, and he let it pass him by. Worse, he saw the opportunity and froze up completely. Sure, he was out of practice. He hadn’t actually pursued anybody romantically since Ginny, and even that was more of a slow courtship throughout their Hogwarts years. It also didn’t help that Snape was incredibly intimidating.

He stopped in his tracks, clenching his fists. He should turn around. He should go back there and tell him. He needed to do something. But then somebody shouldered past him, muttering a rude comment about idiotic wizards blocking the way, and Harry hunched his shoulders and kept walking toward the Leaky Cauldron. Drinking alone was just as good. This way, he ran no chance of making a fool of himself.

The Leaky Cauldron was mostly empty, which suited Harry just fine. He sat down at the bar to order a glass of wine and some food, hunching over himself miserably. The bartender suggested a merlot and some beef stew, which Harry said would do him just fine and he thought after that, maybe he’d ask for a few shots of cheap vodka and a slice of cake. Fuck it, there was no use in practicing self-restraint.

A bowl of soup floated in from the back room as the bartender poured him a glass of wine. Harry tucked in immediately, feeling considerably better after a few bites. Something crinkled in his pocket as he chewed thoughtfully on a piece of beef. He set down his spoon and retrieved his mother’s letter, the one he had shoved in his pocket when he woke up. It had crumpled slightly in his pocket, so he flattened the cream paper out on the bar before reading. Hot and stinging tears sprung to his eyes almost immediately.

His mum was proud of him. She would always be proud of him, and only wished they could be closer, but it was entirely her fault that they weren’t. According to her, anyway. He didn’t think that was entirely fair, but then again she had died, hadn’t she? She had died when he was an infant and he grew up alone and without her, but here was her letter in her beautiful curling handwriting, smelling like a perfume that triggered so many childhood memories.

She had died and so had his father. They had been murdered but they had done their absolute best raising him, considering their youth and their own unique failings.

He had no idea what was true, what was real. He dug his nails into the varnished wood of the bar, grounding himself in the slightly sticky sensation that caught against his fingers, and then the absolute worst possible thing that could happen to him happened.

“Mr. Potter. Fancy seeing you here.”

He spun around on the bar stool to gawk at Snape, who was brushing snow from his robe. Snape. Sitting down at the bar beside him, a leather briefcase placed beside Harry’s wine glass. Snape peering at his face, furrowing his brow, fully aware of Harry’s brimming tears.

“Honestly, Potter. The interview was dreadful, but it isn’t worth crying over.”

“Huh? Oh.” He grabbed his mother’s letter and shoved it into his jacket pocket. “No, it wasn’t that. It was just…”

“Feeling out of sorts from your late night, I take it?”

Oh. _He knew_. “…Same as you, I suppose.”

The bartender appeared from the back room, looking rather striking with his full mustache and stiff-brimmed hat, the sort a railroad conductor would wear. Harry hadn’t noticed him before, not really, but there was now a peculiar gleam in the magic tracing along his body that drew Harry’s attention. He couldn't quite put his finger on why he seemed so significant. Almost familiar. The man addressed Snape first. “Anything for you, sir?”

“Scotch, neat.” Snape’s voice dragged a shiver down Harry’s spine like warm fingers on his flesh. It was dizzying, disorienting, especially when the bartender looked to Harry and asked if he would like another glass.

“Yes, please.” Harry barely managed to murmur it, too distracted by the strangest sensation tugging at his navel. He felt peculiar, like he was caught in the first split second of a portkey’s effect. Something strange was happening, something magical and unfamiliar churning the atmosphere.

They waited quietly while the bartender prepared their drinks, Harry watching his back with a curious sort of dread as he vanished into the back room. Then Harry glanced at Snape and smiled, feeling rather shy, and just like that everything felt ordinary again. As ordinary as it could feel, anyway.

“So, you figured out it was me, did you?” He tried to conceal his nerves with a sip of his drink.

Snape considered him for a moment, staring just too long to not be making some sort of study of his face. “I must admit, it was your lips that gave it away. I had my suspicions at the sound of your voice, but there is no mistaking that mouth. Their shape has been burned into my memory.”

 _Merlin_. He had surely never blushed so hard in his life. “I- ah, well. I should have said something before, yeah? It’s not that I was trying to be deceptive, I just-”

“Oh no, Mr. Potter. You most certainly _were_ trying to be deceptive. Did you honestly think I wouldn’t figure it out? Did you think I would have hired you and you could have continued pretending we weren’t already… acquainted?”

“I was nervous. And I really wanted the job.” He admitted it into his glass, unable to meet Snape’s penetrating stare. “I didn’t know who you were last night, otherwise I would have… I don’t know. Backed off?”

“That’s right, you were under the illusion I was some form of talking bird.” A long finger trailed along the lip of his scotch glass, his nail ringing along the surface.

“Yeah, well, I’m still not entirely sure you aren’t. So, what, did you decide to follow me here to scold me for even daring to show up for the interview?”

“As a matter of fact, no. I decided that I had earned a drink after surviving that truly dismal interview, but it seems there’s no escaping you.” His tone was light, almost teasing.

“Seems accurate. So, might as well tell me exactly how dismal I was.”

Snape sighed and folded his arms, leaning forward on the bar. A hand went up to press against his temple. “You didn’t do that terribly. No worse than I did in my role. I absolutely loathe the hiring process.”

“You and me both.” Harry laughed, but he felt strained, wrung out like a damp towel.

“I must admit that it is actually rather fortuitous for us to meet again so quickly, if only to follow up on the results from our experiment. It wasn’t as if the note you left in the snow gave me any useful information.” Snape took a long sip before glancing at Harry.

“Oh, I hardly remember doing that. What did it say? And do you have my boots? I need those.”

“I do, as well as the trousers and body chain, although I do not know why I had any hope of reconnecting with somebody whose departing message was simply a cartoonish smiling heart.”

“That… sounds about right.” He buried his face in his hands. “I was in a right state this morning.”

“How are you feeling now?” Snape’s voice was warm. Inquisitive.

“Still high. I keep thinking it’s left and then suddenly the world is covered in glitter again. I only threw up once, though. But I’m not necessarily blaming your joint on that, there were other factors at play.”

“How would you rate the experience overall?” Snape actually withdrew a handsome leather journal from his bag and began to jot down notes. “And what other factors were at play, exactly?”

“I had some of that, er… well, your business made it, had your logo on it along with a peacock. That was meant to help me see without my glasses. And um… something else, too. Seemed like some sort of neurotransmitter enhancer. Thrombotonin, maybe? It’s also from your shop, came in a large amber bottle.” Snape began writing in earnest. “But it was interesting. Makes wandless magic easier, which is rather unsettling now that I think of it. But it lasts too long. Not the drug for those with work in the morning.” The remark was teasing, but as he said it, he was struck by the sudden memory of crying in Snape’s arms, shuddering and panicking as Snape’s fingers tried to push inside of him. He blushed furiously, ducking his head down. “But I did enjoy myself. A lot.”

“As did I. And I must say, your interview outfit doesn’t compare to the costume you were wearing last night.”

“You can thank Draco Malfoy for that. He put me up to it. The whole night, in fact.”

He returned the journal to his bag. “Consider him thanked. But I never would have imagined the two of you getting along. Are you seeing each other?”

“Oh, no! But our mothers are.”

“Narcissa and Lily? That’s... fantastic.” Severus seemed genuinely surprised as if the information threw him off track for a moment. He absently toyed with his drink. Those long fingers tap-tap-tapped against the glass, condensation clinging to his fingertips. Harry had to tear his eyes away. “It’s been too long since I’ve spoken with Narcissa. We used to be very close, but it’s been a long time.”

“Same as my mom, right? She mentions you sometimes.”

“That’s surprising. Our friendship did not end happily.”

“Never would have guessed it by the way she talks about you.”

Snape grimaced at that, staring across the bar at the assortment of bottles filling a single shelf. “So I take it she and James are…”

“Divorced, yeah. A few years back now. He’s all but vanished, took off to Australia with Sirius last I heard.”

He scoffed. “Good riddance.”

“Too right.” He paused a moment, wanting to continue the conversation, but he had run out of things to say. “So, um, I might as well ask. Should I continue my job search?” He tried to ask it lightly, as if a lump of nerves wasn’t threatening to burst out of his chest.

“Well, Harry. May I call you Harry?” He nodded and Snape continued, “You’re qualified enough for the job. Commendable NEWT scores and presumably enough real world experience with your time as an Auror to know you have enough common sense to not be a reckless menace in my laboratory. Not to mention this… freelance monster hunting. I imagine that means you are already familiar with the local apothecary. However, my greatest concerns are discretion and dedication. This is no simple job posting. It is, as I said, more of an apprenticeship. I would personally oversee your training and the intention would be to keep you on my staff for many years to come. Unfortunately, I do not think it is wise to take on a student like you...” He trailed off before taking a long sip from his drink, and Harry had the feeling he was about to be let down as gently as the man knew how, at least until he continued. “Not one that I find… so attractive.”

“Yeah, that’s— oh. You are?” His heart could have been torn loose from his body and flung onto the floor. Every piece of glass in the pub could have shattered by the sheer volume of a dozen trumpeting angels. His shock was so overwhelming he wouldn’t have been the wiser even if the very sun tore free from the solar system and flung them all into chaos. “…Really?”

Severus glanced at Harry before looking toward the bottles arranged over the bar, frowning, as if mulling over his words. “I… seem to lack the will to pass up a man who can handle his entheogens. However, that is also one of the reasons why you would be an ideal candidate for an apprenticeship. I find myself at a crossroads.”

He could scarcely begin to wonder what drug use had to do with an apprenticeship, but he had to try to act smooth. “So my options are either to turn you down and possibly get the job, or ask you out and continue on with my current destitution? You realize I’m barely a step above being a common criminal, right? And it doesn’t even pay well. Surely being broke isn’t that attractive.”

“I admit it’s remarkably unethical for me to even bring it up,” Snape said with a light shrug. “And I do have a few other candidates in line. Might I ask why you’re so keen on this job in the first place? I daresay I distinctly recall you not being the best of my pupils back at Hogwarts, but your NEWTs show you managed to improve a great deal.”

“I just… well, I’ve already tried my dream job as an Auror. That’s why I worked so hard at Potions, honestly, I needed an E for that. But being an Auror really wasn’t a good fit. I was doing it for the wrong reasons.” He hesitated a moment, then saw Snape was clearly listening, giving him his undivided attention, so he continued, “I’ve done a lot of soul searching since I left, and I came to the conclusion that I needed something different. Living with my roommate Bill showed me a whole different side of the magical world, one outside of Hogwarts and the Ministry. It showed me something... real. And, well, then I saw your job posting and that seemed real, too. The job posting called for multitaskers, and those willing to push the limitations of the human mind and body. Well, I’m a multitasker, and I have plenty of experience pushing myself. I thought maybe I could do it.”

Snape nodded, watching him with an unreadable expression. “You very likely could.”

“But I didn’t think you’d ever want to see me again. Not after I completely melted down on you like that.” The admission was too abrupt, but it had rushed out of him before he could stop. He finished the last of his drink in a large gulp.

His face softened. “Oh, Harry. Oh no, that was perfectly fine. Although I must admit it took me by surprise. I… had made certain assumptions on your experience.”

“I guess going around topless in a pair of leather trousers could do that.”

“So skintight it almost would have been less indecent to skip them entirely.” He chuckled lightly. “If anything I find it remarkably endearing.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve never done anything like that before. Only really been with one other person, actually.” If the ground could just open up and swallow him into the earth’s core that would be just wonderful. Even the molten center of the planet had to be less hot than his face.

The way Snape kept staring at him would have been unsettling if it wasn’t so flattering. He felt like a fascinating bug caught in a jar, dancing and flailing as Snape tapped against the glass. Neither of them spoke for a while until Harry noticed both of their drinks had been refilled. “That bartender’s a sneaky one.”

Snape cleared his throat. “Do you mind if I speak candidly?”

“Of course not. Go ahead.”

“Do you put much credence in coincidence? Because I most certainly do not. I have been a student of magic for as long as I can remember. It is my life’s purpose, and over the course of my study, I have come to understand that there is meaning behind everything. The more one interacts with the hazier angles of magic, the more this becomes evident. Did you know that last night was my first time going out socially in over a decade?”

“You mentioned something about meeting a date.”

“Yes, on an absolute whim with a stranger who never bothered to show up. The behavior was utterly out of the norm for me, but I found you there. And I felt, well— and then we met again today. _Twice_. I believe that is significant. There is a message behind our meetings and I want to unravel it.”

“What sort of message?”

“Only time will tell, I suppose. But in the meantime, perhaps it would be to both of our benefits if I did hire you. Are you still interested?”

“Are you kidding? Of course I’m interested.”

“This is no simple job, I do hope you understand that. I’m looking for a student first and foremost and our studies will cover far more than potion brewing. We will be pushing past the limits of the magic taught in institutions such as Hogwarts, and far beyond.”

“Like street magic? But that’s…”

“I prefer the term wyrdcrafting. And yes, I am aware that it has a dangerous reputation. However, with proper study and discipline, it is no more dangerous than anything you’ve learned to cast with a wand.”

“Do you remember Bill Weasley? This is right up his alley.”

“I remember a great deal of Weasleys, but their individual faces all blended together over the years. But it is actually quite common for Hogwarts graduates to eventually move on to experimental magic. Thanks to the foundational skills imparted upon you by your classical education you are actually considerably safer than most. Why do you think you were forced to write so many essays? It was to ingrain all of the fundamental laws of magic into you, so deeply it becomes a force of habit. You have an inherent knowledge of far, far more than I suspect you are aware of.”

Harry was entranced, his drink long forgotten. He leaned in closer, setting his hand down beside Snape’s where it rested on the bar. “What do you mean?”

Snape took his hand, squeezed it. “Would you rather I show you?”


	7. To Pierce the Veil

They landed on a balcony, their feet sinking into a heavy layer of fresh snow. Harry recognized the area. It was only a few blocks away from Snape’s shop in a rather posh section of magical London. Snow piled on their shoulders, clinging to their robes as Snape withdrew a silver key from his pocket and used it to open the swinging doors leading inside.

The doors led to a gorgeous parlor, one with a rich wood floor and walls wallpapered in cream marked with gentle filigree, covered with hanging paintings in dark brown frames and chiaroscuro artwork. All bright light and heavy shadows. It felt close inside, intimate and private, but not crowded. Soft music switched on with the lights as they entered, quiet harpsichord and strings coming from invisible speakers. Harry’s jaw might have dropped somewhat at the sight of the rich decor, but he tried to take his surprise in stride. Snape swept through the room like a monarch returning home after a tiresome day. He draped his coat over the back of a chair positioned in front of a large desk, both covered in elaborate carvings and made of beautiful curving lengths of dark wood.

A house elf in a crisp white outfit immediately appeared, popping into the room with a faint crack. She gathered up the coat in a hurry, as if unable to stand a single trace of clutter in the immaculate room. Harry noted that the house elf seemed quite cheerful and remarkably well-dressed as Snape instructed her to bring up a tea service, which seemed a promising indication of how Snape would also treat his employees.

It made Harry think of the woman he met in the shop. Taking a seat in a comfortable armchair beside a cold fireplace, he decided to ask about her. “Who was that woman I met earlier?”

“I overheard you introduce yourself to Teki, so I assume you must mean Mrs. Tonks.” Snape placed his bag on the desk and joined Harry by the hearth, igniting a fresh log with a wave of his hand. He settled into his chair, sprawling somewhat against an armrest, perfectly at ease and radiating confidence.

The casual manner made Harry feel terribly nervous. This was like the interview all over again, but even more personal. Snape was watching him steadily, dark eyes shining in the firelight, making Harry’s breath hitch somewhat before responding. “Oh, you heard that?”

“Indeed. Showing such manners to one of my favorite cats was yet another point in your favor.” Those watchful eyes flicked away, regarding some fixed point over Harry’s head. “But yes, Mrs. Tonks has been a loyal employee of mine since the very beginning of Prima Materia.”

“Oh, I knew an Auror named Tonks.” Not too well, but enough to know not to call her Nymphadora. She had been one of his favorite coworkers and had left the department to pursue some work-study program in some far flung country. That had actually been one of his main motivations for leaving the Aurors shortly after.

“Yes, Mrs. Tonks is Nymphadora’s mother. A lovely woman, but she prefers to keep to herself. As do we all. You have yet to meet my only other employee, Mr. Rosier. He tends to the projects on the lower levels of the shop.”

The house elf returned with a gorgeous tea set balanced on a silver tray, walking with such poise that the delicate porcelain barely rattled as she placed it all on a table between their chairs before vanishing. Harry watched as Snape poured for both of them, leaving his own cup unaltered before gesturing to the milk and the sugar bowl, looking up at Harry.

“Oh, milk and three sugars please.”

“ _Three_ sugars?”

Harry tensed at the disapproving tone, but a slight smile traced across Snape’s lips, so he shrugged. “I have a bit of a sweet tooth.”

“So it seems.” Snape poured a generous splash of milk and dropped three sugar cubes into Harry’s cup, stirring with a delicate silver spoon.

Harry accepted the cup gratefully and drank deeply, relishing the warmth spreading down his throat. A blizzard had greeted them outside of the Leaky Cauldron, considerably stronger than the weather normally seen in London, and the cold had settled into his bones. “This is perfect, thank you. I had caught a bit of a chill outside.”

“That reminds me.” Snape set aside his cup and reached into his robe to withdraw Harry’s body chain, which he had draped around his neck like a scarf. He passed it over the table. “Quite a useful enchantment. I’ll have to find one for myself.”

The chain was warm from Snape’ body. Harry squeezed it in his hands before hanging it over his own neck, but his body temperature didn’t change at all. It was perfect inside the parlor. “You don’t possibly have my boots under that robe as well, do you?”

“No, only an assortment of bites and scratches.” He responded so casually, making Harry sputter in embarrassment. Harry sipped his tea to try to conceal his blush and Snape continued on, once again pinning Harry with his eyes. “Your boots are in my bedroom. I’ll have Blitzy retrieve them shortly.”

 _Snape’s bedroom_. Harry wondered if he’d ever have a chance to see that for himself. The way Snape kept staring at him and smiling made Harry suspect that all he’d need to do was ask. But that was— well, he couldn’t just come out and say something like that. He decided to change the subject. “So, you told me at the pub that you wanted to explain something?”

“I did.” Snape sat back in his seat and kicked his feet up on an ottoman. “Tell me, which direction are you facing?”

“Oh. Hmm…” Harry trailed off, visualizing the street outside and how it related to any nearby landmarks. He knew the area well enough for an educated guess. “South?”

“South-west would be more accurate. And do you happen to know our current lunar phase?”

“I have no idea.”

Snape quirked his eyebrow and leaned against an armrest, resting his head against his hand. “And yet, when you cast a spell requiring this knowledge, as most of them do, your mind automatically supplies the information for you.”

Harry nodded slowly. The majority of his first year had been spent drilling tables upon tables of planetary correspondences and directional information, replicating charts in Introduction to Spellcasting until it was no longer necessary to look up the information. The theory was that the repetition would kickstart an instinctive part of the student’s minds, enabling the proper connection between themselves and magic, and it did. For most of the students anyway. “Right, but having to stop and think about the details makes it almost impossible to recall.”

“Precisely. _Almost_ impossible. However, this difficulty may be overcome with enough practice and concentration. This is the foundation of wandless magic. Your wand works as a mediator between the spell and your inherent knowledge, using proper wand motion to fill in the gaps as needed. It allows the magician to access a wide array of registered spells, without depending on a deeper, more intimate knowledge of the magic at play. It’s easier to teach to children and the system allows our ever-watchful Ministry to moderate our spellwork.”

“Right, but it’s like that for a reason. Any spell falling outside of the magical registry isn’t guaranteed to be safe. A lot of street magic is extremely dangerous.”

Snape laughed lightly and sat up, retrieving his cup of tea. “Ah, there’s the Auror.”

“But it is.” Harry frowned. First Bill and now Snape? This was common knowledge, but he kept running into people who didn’t seem to care. “Magic is a wild and living thing. It’ll tear apart anything or anybody that doesn’t know how to handle it.”

“Yes, this is true.” Snape nodded and leaned forward, holding his cup between his hands. “But just like an animal, it can be tamed. Mastered.”

“Right. Well, it seems you’ve got that part under control, as successful as you are.”

“And I can teach you to have that level of control as well. The potential is there. Would you say that you’ve always been quite adept at spellcasting? More than some of your peers, perhaps?”

“I suppose so. I, well… I mastered the _Patronus_ in my third year.” Harry shrugged and then realized that wasn’t quite accurate, but he had picked it up very quickly once he _had_ tried the spell, hadn’t he? That had been… when exactly was that? No, he was right, it had been his third year. “But what does that have to do with street magic?”

“Not street magic. Wyrdcrafting.” Snape pressed his lips together, as if the former phrase was distasteful. “A talented magician is able to break themself of their reliance on their wand. Their inherent magical senses guide their hands, their entire bodies, instead of some separate entity. It takes a great deal of constant practice to break the habit, but the mind eventually adjusts. Then they may access the highest form of wandless magic, which falls into a category of its own, really. It is the art of manipulating the information necessary for spellcasting, plucking at the very strings of reality to make it sing any song we wish. While any untrained magician is capable of harnessing this power, somebody with the proper training may take it even further, beyond the more reasonable limitations of reality.”

Harry winced. “I have to admit, I’m not entirely comfortable with experimental magic. At least not to that extent. I’ve seen it go wrong so many times. It was the worst part of being an Auror.”

“I’m sure you have done. Yet you applied for this job, knowing full well what the advert had promised. But this is yet another reason why I believe you may be well suited for this training. You know all too well what can and will happen if you do not take the process seriously. Wyrdcrafting is a highly dangerous subject, but it is currently the primary focus of my studies. It is not too late to back out if you find this intolerable.”

Harry took a long sip of his tea, thinking it over. His initial response was fear, but surely somebody as successful and intelligent as Snape had a more responsible approach than the many corpses he had found turned inside-out from their failed experiments. The man was a professional. “Could you tell me more about your methods?”

“I would be delighted.” Something gleamed in Snape’s eyes. Excitement, eagerness, an almost predatory expression. “It is all about careful observation. Most wandless magic is accidental and fueled by emotion. Sometimes simple desires, often more vulnerable responses such as rage or fear. Their spellcasting lacks any nuance or precision. A wyrdcrafter uses their inherent knowledge of the world around them and of their own self. They track every variable within and without. Where an unpracticed hand tears a hole in reality like a ball pitched through a window, letting anything through, a wyrdcrafter holds a needle piercing the veil with confidence and precision.”

He rose from his seat and retrieved his bag, withdrawing the same leather journal he had used in the pub. Gripping it in his hands, he turned around to face Harry, leaning against the desk. “Everything must be tracked. Order must be found within the chaos of life and I have found the best method is to begin a journal. The first section should begin with a brief examination of your life up until this point, in order to answer an essential question: How did you come to be in this place at this time, and how did you come to be engaged in this work?” He paused a beat before setting the journal down. “You must begin a path to discovering who you truly are. Once you better comprehend your origins and your self, we may begin.”

“This sounds like a lot of work.” Harry shifted in his seat. It really did seem like an enormous question, even for somebody who wasn’t having constant issues with their memory. Just thinking about it made him feel ill.

“I never said it would be easy. To succeed under my tutelage you must dedicate yourself fully. As we progress it will become increasingly complicated, but also increasingly satisfactory.” He moved to a cabinet and opened a drawer to retrieve another journal. Fiery light framed him as he approached Harry, outlining him in flickering orange. “If you're with me so far you may have this. But be forewarned, it will be necessary for me to read everything you have written in it and to leave comments throughout. Be mindful of your margins.”

“So it’s a non-private journal.”

Snape sighed. “If you wish to jot down your hopes and dreams on paper you may do so, but expect that I will skim past anything that strikes me as irrelevant.”

Harry took the book, having to tug slightly to take it from Snape’s grip. The cover was smooth and pleasant to the touch, warm leather encasing thick creamy paper that begged to be marked with ink. “Well, it’s lovely. Thank you.”

Snape smiled and returned to his seat. “Be careful with that phrase. Some take words of thanks as permanent and binding.”

“Well, I hadn’t taken you for one of the Fair Folk,” Harry replied, and Snape only raised a brow in response. “That reminds me. So, my housemate does quite a lot of magic falling into the wyrdcrafting category but he primarily works with spirits. Uses them for information. Do you do much of that?”

“Absolutely not. Spirits are liars. No exceptions. They sometimes give accurate information as they see fit, but their moods are fickle and lean toward malignancy.” That struck a chord of worry. How was Bill doing? Was he still languishing in the bath, chatting with whichever spirits he decided to call upon in his rotten mood? That house, that whole world, seemed like half-forgotten pages of some old book. Snape only served to further his worry. “I'd advise that you avoid your flatmate as much as possible, especially once we've begun this work in earnest. Spirits are an unnecessary danger.”

“It won’t be easy to avoid him, our place isn’t that large.” Harry set down his empty cup and Snape promptly picked up the porcelain teapot and poured him another.

“Ah, well that brings us to our next topic. Your salary.” He finished stirring Harry’s tea and snapped his fingers. The house elf reappeared a moment later. “Blitzy, would you kindly fetch my ledger and Mr. Potter’s boots?”

“I have them ready here, sirs,” Blitzy squeaked, bouncing into a little curtsey before tracing a hand overhead. A heavy book fell from thin air into Snape’s open palm, followed by Harry’s worn boots hitting the rug with a thud. Glowing with pride when Snape gave her an approving nod, she curtseyed to them both before vanishing. Snape carried the ledger to his desk and sat down in a high-backed armchair.

Harry sipped at the last of his tea, resisting the urge to fidget as Snape thumbed through the ledger. A grandfather clock ticked steadily in the corner, the only source of sound along with the crackling fire and the occasional turn of a page. Finally, Snape retrieved an eagle feather quill from a drawer and began writing something. He stood and handed the paper to Harry.

“I do hope this will suffice.” He moved behind Harry’s seat, watching as he read. “We will begin with a trial period, to see if you're suited to the work, and then additional contracts will be discussed as well as a pay rise.”

The thought of a higher salary seemed almost ludicrous, considering the amount written at the bottom of the page. It was remarkable how the significance of a galleon changed according to one’s circumstances. This promised income was enough to make his head spin with possibilities, one week earning far more than he or Bill could ever have hoped to assemble in a month. It would change everything. He could move out if he wished, but he wasn’t quite sure he could bring himself to do that to Bill. He admitted as much to Snape once the paperwork was signed and Harry was officially considered a legal employee of Prima Materia.

Snape glanced up from the ledger he had been scratching away at with his quill. “Well, while it is not within my rights to forbid you from spending time with this man, I'd advise against it. He's endangering you both with his foolhardy lifestyle, and I suspect his influence has so far been less than positive.”

“What gave you that impression?”

He closed the ledger and stared at Harry appraisingly. “Judging by your complexion, I'd wager that you have not been eating or sleeping properly.” He stood, circled around him, like a predator examining its prey, a spider guarding its upcoming feast. “And I assume those shoes are your only other pair considering your focus on retrieving your boots, and they are in a horrible state. Your clothes are wrinkled and smell as if they have been in storage. Considering your general appearance, your rather questionable current employment, and the unique circumstances of our initial meeting, you strike me as aimless and easily swayed by the mutually aimless.”

Harry sank down in his seat, his pride more than a little wounded. “Yeah, well, you try surviving a divorce. I let myself go a little bit, but it was only temporary.”

It was as if his entire mood had changed. His lips quirked up in a mocking smile. “Only temporary. I'd wager I am all but saving your life with this offer, Harry.”

Harry’s breath caught as a hand touched his chin, lifting his gaze upward. He met Snape’s eyes and his heart skipped a beat before he fought to look away, but Snape grasped him firmly by the jaw.

“All I need from you are a few simple promises. Do you promise to commit to this training? To not endanger us both by taking the work lightly?” A gleam flashed across his eyes.

Harry’s heart beat wildly in his chest. This was an opportunity of a lifetime. How could he say no? “Yes. I promise.”

A thumb stroked his cheek. “This is just as beneficial for me as it is for you. I need a reliable assistant. The matter has become rather pressing and while we cannot hurry your learning process, we do need to stay on a consistent training regime. Do you promise to try your hardest to not make this a waste of both of our time?”

He nodded against Snape’s hand. “Yes, sir, I promise.”

“Excellent.” The hand retreated, a soft breath escaping Harry’s rather tight chest as Snape moved to his desk. “I'll need you in my lab, properly dressed, and ready to work at six am tomorrow morning. I expect to see some progress in your journal by then. Now, if you don’t mind, I believe we both have a great deal of work to do.”

Feeling well and fully dismissed, yet terribly confused, Harry drained the last of his tea and scooped up his boots. “Thank you, sir, I’m looking forward to getting started.”

“Good evening, Mr. Potter. Don’t make me regret this decision.”


	8. Blinded

Harry would have said that he had floated home, but there wasn’t much floating involved in apparition and his delight was weighed down with too many conflicting emotions. He felt a certain sense of pride in himself. Pride that he hadn’t been forced to lie about the extent of his very outdated potion knowledge, that he had been chosen due to his own merit. Sure, part of that merit was based on happenstance, but Snape wanted _him_. Professionally as well as physically.

The sensation of Snape’s hand pressed against his face lingered as he returned home, the feeling of a thumb stroking his cheek still tingling through his skin. Apparently that aspect of their relationship wasn’t over. Not that Harry would dare to hope for anything resembling a _relationship_ with the man. People slept with their bosses all the time without it progressing into anything serious, didn’t they? It wouldn’t do to be too hopeful for more. Not that he necessarily wanted more than that. It was far too early to tell, and besides, Harry still wasn’t entirely convinced he swung that way. There was no way to know it hadn’t just been the drugs, at least until he tried again. And he wanted to try again. Something about Snape’s touch and voice and approval was just _so good_ , and Harry happily admitted to himself that he’d do just about anything to get more.

A certain leather book in his coat pocket added weight to his mood. He thought of the two questions posed by Snape, now written on the first page: How did you come to be in this place at this time, and how did you come to be engaged in this work?

What in the world had he gotten himself into?

Going home just to worry over Bill didn’t help much either. Thankfully, his friend was home and quite dry, almost as if he hadn’t touched his bath in hours. He was perched on top of the table when Harry walked in, sitting incredibly still. Harry felt a bit apprehensive as he approached. Something felt wrong. “Hey Bill, how was your day?”

Bill looked up from his lap, his face pale and partially covered by thick clumps of matted hair. His eyes were squeezed shut, the skin around them puffy and red as if he had been crying. “They’ve been watching me… in the mirror, you know? That’s how he found me.”

Oh, he was well and truly fucked up. Harry waited a moment for him to continue but Bill kept facing him with tightly-shut eyes. Harry looked around to see the room was in a horrible state. Bill’s bed had been flung aside, the mattress tilted against the far wall, the perpetual mountain of laundry an explosion. “Right. Well, if you’d rather be alone, I do need to get to work on some things…”

“Wait, no, hold on. I needed to talk to you.” Bill reached for Harry and leaned forward, tipping a little too far toward the ground. A mirror fell off of his lap onto the floor and then he followed, landing with a heavy thump before Harry could catch him. His eyes blinked open before squeezing shut again with a gasp of pain and Harry’s stomach turned to cold liquid. Bill’s eyes weren’t just bloodshot— they were injured. Red blossomed through white, dragged down onto skin shaped like shallow claw marks.

“Wow man, what happened to you?”

“I went looking for the monster and I found it… I fought it Harry, I really did, but I— I—” Tears leaked through his clenched eyes, running thick down his cheeks.

“You fought it? What happened?” Harry rubbed Bill’s back slowly, trying to ease some calm into his convulsing body. “Start from the beginning.”

“I went to that bar… the one down the road from here. I was going to find a possessed person and bring them back here, so I could— I could— and I did. I brought her back here. I knew it was in her, and I thought I had it under control, that I could use her to find him and make him leave… I can’t do this alone, mate. I can’t. He was in me and I pushed him out but only barely and now _he knows me_. He could come back.” Bill covered his face with his hands and began sobbing convulsively.

“How did you fight it? What could I have done?” Harry was at an absolute loss. This was the worst possible scenario, right? But Bill didn’t have teeth in his eyes, just massive injuries. That had to mean he was safe. He was alright.

“I don’t know I just— I don’t— I needed somebody and you weren’t here.” He tore out of Harry’s embrace, blindly shoving past him to the corner where the mattress was usually arranged, but that had been flung across the room. He stumbled over a loose pillow and swore, falling against the wall with a heavy thump before sliding down to the floor. Curling forward, he pushed his face into his hands. “Tell me something happy, would you? I need some good news.”

“Well… I got the job.” That was apparently not good news. Bill let out a soft wail and slammed his head back against the wall. “But that just means we’ll have more money! More resources!”

“No, no, no, no, you’re going to leave me. I know you will and I can’t ask you to stay, I could never ask you to stay with me, not here, not in this horrible place—”

“Listen, Bill, listen. Snape is going to teach me so much. And, well, I’ll be able to do more with my magic. More like you!” Harry was at a loss. There were no possible words to comfort him, but he would try anyway. “And I’ll have money so we can fix this place up and have a good meal every day, maybe even open up that detective agency we’ve been talking about. Sure, my schedule is going to change, but we won’t have to take those weird cases anymore.”

“You won’t be taking any cases because you’ll be too busy helping out your boyfriend.” Bill muttered it into his knees.

Wait, was he jealous? Bill had never expressed any sort of interest in him this way, but this was the second time he had referred to Snape in such a bitter tone. “We all have to move on from where we are eventually, mate. That’s just how life is.”

“It’s like you’re not even the same person anymore. It’s like something pushed my friend out and left me with you.”

The accusation was oddly dizzying. Harry backed away, shaking his head. “That’s not fair, you know. It’s not fair to expect me to stay here forever.”

Bill sniffled, wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve. “I know. I know that. It’s not fair. Nothing is ever fair and I just have to remember that but come on mate, tell me something happy. Tell me about something beautiful.”

So he did. He sat down on the floor next to Bill and began to tell him all he could remember of the previous night. How the stars had sprung to life in the sky, how they had showered an infinity of secrets down, pushing ancient knowledge right into his mind only for it to wash away with the sunlight and the snow. He described the feeling of the wind, dampened by the magical chain, how it pushed around him and made him feel as if he could fly. The way magic reflected off of plants, how different it looked dripping off of the eaves of a particularly powerful building, how it lived inside of each word of a book. He described Tektite the cat and the dancing rainbows living within her fur, how warm the sun left her, the rumbling purrs passing into his skin. He went on and on, reliving the day, mentally steeling himself for his first journal assignment and in a roundabout way circled back to it.

“So it’s my job to figure out who I am and what circumstances have brought me to where I am now. Do you ever stop to think about stuff like that?”

“All the time. And yet, also never. It’s hard to look back, isn’t it? Pass me my box, would you?”

“Sure, hold on.” Harry looked for the little wood box Bill usually kept stocked with a supply of cannabis and rolling papers, but the room was an explosion of clutter. He ended up having to use his wand, lifting up piles of laundry and pushing those off to the side, wondering how so many dishes could have accumulated since he last tidied. The box was under a pile of pillows. Harry opened it and saw a few joints were already rolled. He tucked one behind his ear before handing the box to Bill, who immediately set to work rolling another.

Bill kept his eyes shut as he set aside a small jar and a rectangle of thin paper, seeming to relax by visible degrees as he went through the process of preparing and smoking a joint. His fingers were still remarkably deft without the use of his eyes. Harry tried to light a flame with the tip of his finger once Bill had the joint clamped between his lips, but it was no use. That drug-induced wandless talent had faded away. He summoned a lighter instead and sparked the flame, instructing Bill to breathe in as he acted as his eyes.

A sob followed the first exhalation of smoke, followed by a sniffle. “So you’re probably wondering what happened to my face.”

“I have my guesses, but yeah.”

“Tooth-eye. Eye to tooth. Eyes against teeth. She mauled me, mate. She went nuts the second the door was shut and we were in bed together. I— I wasn’t planning on fucking her, but she jumped on top of me, accusing me of strange things, and then those teeth just— first they were a pretty brown and then. Gone. All white and sharp. She went for me with her nails first.” He stopped to pull down his collar, displaying inflamed scratches covering his chest, cutting through all of those bite wounds from before. Harry frowned, realizing Bill still hadn’t explained those either. “And then when that wasn’t working she tried to bite through them. _Through my eyes_. Can you imagine how fucked up that is?”

“Like butterfly kisses with teeth, I reckon.”

“Yeah. Fucked up shit.” Bill’s lips parted, pushing out perfect circles of smoke that drifted up like little halos above their heads.

“Then what happened?”

“I fucking kicked her in the gut is what happened. She was on top of me and I managed to get my knees and feet in under her. One solid kick was all it took and she was across the room, tiny thing that she was. She took off out the door and didn’t come back but then there was all this laughing. In my head. So I— well, you should be proud of me for this one mate, but I went into badass mode. I got my gear, I got the incense and the proper mindset and I wrestled that bastard right out of my head.”

“How did you do that?”

“Willpower, Harry. It’s all about the willpower. That’s something you have in spades, you know. It’s probably how you got that job today. It’s all about knowing who you are and fighting for it with everything you have. Real soul power. That’s the trick to the deep magic.”

Bill’s joint had burned down to a short stump. The burning end came too close to his lips and he spit it out with a gasp. The pile of ashes accumulated on his clothes fell to the floor as he sat up straight, crossing his legs. Harry handed him the box so he could roll another. “So you think if that thing got into me I could fight it off too?”

“Sure, especially if you’re armed good and proper. A good warlike incense helps, whatever helps get you into battle mode. Knowing your brain and being able to identify anything unusual is important too. You meditate, right?”

“Er, no. I don’t have the attention span for that.”

“Fucking excuses!” Bill broke into a fit of coughing. “Sorry mate, sorry. It’s just. Anybody can do it. Just takes commitment.”

“Speaking of commitment, I have an assignment I need to start before I have to wake up before dawn.”

“An assignment? Glad to hear Snape hasn’t forgotten his roots.”

“Yeah, it’s actually pretty wild stuff. The man wants me to write about my life story, starting from childhood up until now, to figure out who I am, or some such.”

“Oh. That’s interesting. Good for him. But why? I thought you were going to be a lab assistant.”

“Yeah, me too, but it turns out the job is way more than that. He kept going on about wyrdcrafting, about dedicating myself to my work. Finding order in chaos, all that.”

“Wyrdcrafting? Sounds like he’s getting you into some real intense stuff. Can’t say I’m surprised, somebody that good at inventing entheogenic potions has to be into esoteric magic.” Bill nodded, seeming considerably more relaxed. His fingers tugged through his tangled hair, combing it back so it mostly stayed out of his face, and he took a long drag off of his joint and exhaled a puff of smoke in the shape of a lion. It bounded around the room as he spoke. “Hey, you could grab what info you can and then we can run off someplace and start up our detective agency.”

“I dunno, Bill. Maybe. Let’s take it a day at a time for now.” Harry stood up, shoving his hands in his pockets. It seemed Bill was calm enough to leave him alone without having to worry too much.

“Wait a second. Harry? Could we do a little something real quick?” He looked so pitiful on the floor, staring up at Harry with tightly-shut eyes, smoke streaming out of his nose.

“Sure. What is it?”

“I’m afraid of getting lost in here. In my head. That thing tried to cut me out of my body. I was almost lost and nobody in the world would know how to find me and pull me back, now that Fleur isn’t— well…” He trailed off, hanging his head low. “Maybe you could learn how since it sounds like you’re starting to dip into some weird magic yourself? It’s easy.”

Harry hesitated. This seemed like the sort of thing Snape would disapprove of, and that probably mattered now, but he felt as if he owed Bill. “Sure, I’ll give it a try.”

“Okay. Cool, cool. Just sit in front of me and take my hands, alright?” Harry sat back down, crossing his legs so their knees almost touched, taking hold of Bill’s blind hands. “Alright. Ok, now close your eyes and focus on the feeling of my hands. If you feel a tug, just let it happen.”

Harry did feel a tug, almost immediately. Like a little bell, high-pitched and ringing, resonating out into space as he hovered on the precipice of his body and Bill’s. “What is this?”

“I’m doing a thing, hold on.” The ringing continued, carrying Harry into an odd out-of-body-in-a-body state, uncertain where the boundary of anything hid until he saw a peculiarly vivid yellow light in an all-dark sea. It was a little bee, or a swimming fish, bobbing and shifting through unsettled water. “That’s me, Harry. You see me? If I ever go missing, just look for this.”

He let go and Harry’s sight swam back, his open eyes staring at Bill’s, red and puffy and leaking tears. “How do I even go looking?”

“You just… well, this is why you need to meditate. You go into a nice and quiet state of mind and just let yourself loose. Once you get some practice it’s not much different from going on a walk. You should practice a bit. There aren’t really any limitations on where you can go and what you can see once you get the hang of it.”

“Alright, I’ll give it an attempt sometime.” He let go of Bill’s hands and stood up. “But I need to get working on this thing for Snape. I’ve got a real early day tomorrow.”

“Right, right. You going to eat anything? I can try to cook.”

Harry hadn’t thought about making dinner for himself, being so filled with nerves for the upcoming day, but the thought of Bill hunched over the stove peering through barely-slitted eyes was unimaginable. “Hold on, let me put something together for us real quick.”


	9. The Dungeon

Waking up so early had been difficult, but Harry arrived at Prima Materia at six o’clock in the morning. Awake, dressed, and entirely sober. It was a good way to start the day. Bill had seemed well enough when Harry had left him, sleeping fitfully in his bed, his eyes matted with healing ointment and wrapped in bandages. It had been difficult to leave him behind. There was always the chance he’d go out and get into trouble again once he felt better. _If_ he felt better. He had been in a frightening state last night, far more devastated than Harry was accustomed to.

It was cold and dark outside when he reached the shop, the night sky only just preparing to transition to day. The street was empty, with hardly any evidence of human life, but Draco’s body chain was draped around his neck to keep the winter chill away. The accessory was a fun little secret, a reminder, maybe a potential surprise for Snape to uncover. Unlikely as that seemed, it was still fun to daydream.

The key he had found under the cover of his journal unlocked the door. A cheery bell jingled as he stepped inside and he marveled for a moment at how different the place looked when it wasn’t glazed over in luminescent magic. It was actually rather drab, but it didn’t help that the sun had not yet risen. A few dim lights had turned on automatically when he arrived, but they were muted, faint behind pale amber glass, so everything was dark and cold and inert. The long tables were weighed down by rows of plants and clutter, and it was damp where lines of condensation ran down the grooves of the tables and dripped onto the loose brick floor. Some of the bricks had even come loose, revealing packed dirt beneath. A cat dashed by him in a blur of orange, vanishing into the thicket.

He shuffled around the front area, checking the whole perimeter until he confirmed that nobody else was there other than a few other cats sleeping among the plants. Uncertain of what else to do, he set to tidying. Hopefully that would make a good impression.

It took some effort, but not much later he had cleared away a great deal of the mess. Empty pots and abandoned tools were arranged neatly on the tables, which he had tidied by hand to make sure everything could be found easily enough. The floors were dry and clean, and he even managed to repair most of the bricks that had come loose in the packed dirt. Well over twenty minutes had passed, but nobody else had arrived. He glanced at his watch. Where was everybody?

He sat down on the couch in the corner, where he was joined by a long-haired cat with striped brown fur. She was remarkably small, barely weighing anything as she strode onto his lap and settled in like a miniature rumbling heater. Most of the other cats had been unimpressed by his cleaning, still napping among the plants, some watching with bright eyes that glowed in the dim light. He had spotted at least six cats, and Teki wasn’t among them, so there were quite possibly even more. Where in the world were they all coming from? He pulled his journal out from his pocket and flipped through the first few pages he had managed to write, squinting less as the rising sun began to trickle peachy oranges and pinks through the windowed ceiling.

The task was even more difficult to process than he had first expected thanks to one very pressing issue—it was becoming apparent that something was wrong with his memory. Deeply wrong. So many conflicting memories told him so many different things. That his mother was dead was likely the most concerning, as he had seen her only a few days ago. He had no clear memory of graduating Hogwarts, either. When he thought of the school, he thought of fear and fighting and a desperate urge to get back there and help. But why? Nothing dangerous ever happened at Hogwarts. Nothing too dangerous anyway. Nothing worth the rising adrenaline and terror that kept gripping him seemingly at random.

And then there were the trains. They were haunting him, speeding through his dreams on an infinity of criss-crossing tracks, the smell of coal and hot iron and the bustling excitement of King’s Cross Station lurking in the corners of his mind.

He propped up his journal on one knee so it wouldn’t disturb the sleeping cat and began sketching a steam locomotive like the Hogwarts Express. But the one he imagined was different. Shifted slightly to the left, perhaps. What did a steam locomotive really look like, anyway? He hesitated over the sketch, needing some sort of reference.

A shadow fell over him, a black form against pink light. “I do not believe I am paying you for your artistic ability, Mr. Potter.”

That voice. Harry smiled despite the disapproving tone and looked up from his page. Snape’s face was cast in shadows, his body outlined against the vivid colors of the sunrise pouring through the windows. Harry couldn’t help but note that he was dressed in a gorgeous outfit, just as formal as the previous day but far more flattering. His half-open robe looked so soft and finely made that Harry was tempted to reach out and run his hand along its length. It was perfectly tailored to cling to Snape’s slender frame, drawing attention to his height and his long arms. Nobody quite pulled off blacks and charcoals like him. He looked elegant, poised, like he was dressed to attend a Wizengamot meeting instead of sitting in a quiet potion laboratory all day.

Harry realized he was staring, simply grinning up at the man like some sort of idiot. “Good morning, sir. You look especially nice today. What’s the occasion?” _Him_. Snape had dressed up for him, hadn’t he? Why else? Snape merely smiled at the remark, the corners of his mouth turning upward ever so slightly, his eyes narrowing, seeming fully aware of the effect his appearance was having on Harry. The cat jumped off Harry’s lap and moved to the floor to rub against Snape’s leg. Lucky cat. Harry watched her prance off to greet Mrs. Tonks at the door. “I wasn’t entirely sure what was needed from me. I tried to do some cleaning, but I didn’t want to mess up any ongoing projects.”

Snape flicked his attention back down to the drawing before responding. “Your job is to follow my instruction. And what was my instruction?”

“To be here at six, dressed and ready to work.” Snape’s waistcoat had such neat little details to them, with shiny black silk and embroidered brocade, and pretty ornate brass buttons. It was distracting. Made Harry wonder why he didn’t bother dressing better. Maybe he would once he got paid.

“Yes, and to work on your journal. Nothing was said about cleaning. Mrs. Tonks is going to be quite irate when she sees how you’ve managed to disturb her meticulously gathered clutter.” Snape was still smirking down at him, as if pleased by something. Surely that had to have been a joke. He held out his hand and Harry handed him the journal. He scanned the few filled pages and nodded before handing it back. “This is acceptable for now. Tell me, Mr. Potter, do you find it difficult to write about yourself when you know I’ll be reviewing the contents?”

 _Obviously_. And yet that wasn’t even the hardest part. “I suppose so, sir.”

“It shows, but there’s no need to be so nervous.” He stepped back. “Come with me, let’s continue this conversation in my office.”

They passed by Mrs. Tonks on their way, who was on her hands and knees muttering over something offensive she had found under a table. She shot an irritated glare at Harry as they passed before scowling at Snape. “Didn’t expect to see this one again.”

“Looks can be deceiving, Mrs. Tonks.”

She continued to mutter in response, returning her attention to the ground. Harry wasn’t certain whether to bristle or feel proud of Snape’s response. What about his looks were deceptive? He supposed it was his age. Being in his mid-twenties likely put him at half Mrs. Tonk’s age, and Snape wasn’t much further behind her.

Ivy had grown over Snape’s office door overnight, but it retracted when they approached, curling up into the shadowy rafters. Harry stepped inside and Snape closed the door behind them. The office was just as austere as before, completely at odds with the cluttered mess in the greenhouse. Only one of the three cauldrons from before still contained a bubbling mixture; the other two were empty and pristine.

Snape moved behind his desk and took a seat, crossing one leg over the other as he leaned against the armrest. Did he have to sprawl so regally every time he sat down? “I suppose you’re wondering why I told you to arrive an hour before the rest of the staff. I’d hoped you would spend the time working on your writing, in case your friend kept you distracted last night.”

“Yeah, he did, but I found time to work on it before bed anyway.” The chair Harry had used during his interview was gone, so he stood, propping one hand on his hip. He considered mentioning what had happened to Bill, but decided against it. There was no reason to bother Snape with their problems.

“Excellent. And have you run into any difficulties so far?”

He clearly had. Snape had to have noticed all of the scribbled out lines. “Um. Keeping my memories straight is more tough than I expected. It’s hard to remember things properly and… I want to make sure I’m getting it right.”

He couldn’t tell Snape about his confusion, could he? It had to be relevant information, but the last thing he needed was the man thinking he wasn’t mentally stable, especially considering what he already knew about Harry’s personal life. Hadn’t he said he couldn’t resist a man who could handle his drugs? It wouldn’t do to show him otherwise. He could tough it out for now. It was just a matter of willpower.

Luckily, Snape didn’t seem displeased with his answer. He only nodded and sat back in his chair. “Recalling and analyzing old memories can be difficult, I won’t deny that. This should take you a few days to complete. I am able to offer assistance should you need it. Memories are something of a specialty of mine.”

Well wasn’t that handy. “How so?”

Snape smiled, fingers steepling under his chin, looking terribly proud of himself. “I am a Legilimens. Trekking so far back into your mind would be a grueling process for us both, but the option is available.”

Oh no. He didn’t know Snape nearly well enough to be comfortable with _that_. Or maybe he knew him too well. One way or the other, he was too uncomfortable with the man to invite him into his mind so intimately. It was an impressive talent, though. The only Legilimens Harry knew of were high-ranking Ministry officials. “I’ll think about it, sir.”

Snape nodded. “I suppose I’ll put you with Rosier for the first week or so. He will give you a tour of the dungeon and find some simple tasks to introduce you to our daily routine, at least for these first few weeks. You must learn the basics before we get distracted with... side projects.” He said the last two words slowly, leveling his gaze at Harry. “Do take care to not upset the man, he tends to be rather temperamental.”

Harry nodded, wondering at what side projects he could mean. “I’ll keep that in mind, sir. I didn’t even realize there was a dungeon here.”

“Yes, the building is much larger than it looks. Now come here.” He said it abruptly, keeping his eyes locked on Harry, who practically fell onto the desk at the sudden order. He walked around instead to stand beside him. Snape withdrew a small iron key from a drawer and offered it to him, holding fast as he spoke. “The door only appears to those holding this key, so I recommend you keep it on you at all times. Nobody is permitted in the lower levels other than myself, Mrs. Tonks, Mr. Rosier, and now you. This is your last opportunity to back out. If you take this key, you are officially entering the legal bounds of our contract.”

The words rolled over him on Snape’s deep, velvety-rich voice, heavy with the sensation of unspoken implications. Harry took the key, skin tingling where his fingers brushed Snape’s. “I have no intention to back out, sir.”

“Very glad to hear it, Mr. Potter.” He waved a hand to summon a book and a thin gold vial. The book centered itself on his desk and flipped open to a marked page. He paid it little mind as he unstoppered the vial and tipped it over his finger. A small dollop of shining gold rested on his fingertip and he glanced up at Harry. “Did you need anything else?”

“Oh, no, I’m just curious what that is.”

Snape opened his mouth, his tongue slipping out to run along the tip of his finger, licking up the shining gold drop. He sucked on his finger, keeping his eyes locked on Harry’s all the while. “I’m afraid that’s none of your business. Now run along.”

Heat blossomed in Harry’s cheeks as he rushed out of the office. What was with that man? Harry had absolutely no idea how to conduct himself or what to expect. A bit of flirting seemed to go far, giving Harry brief glimpses of the man behind the cold mask, but then the mask would slam back in place, turning him cold and professional. It was disorienting and it left Harry starving for more. Perhaps Snape would reveal his true self more often the more Harry pleased him. Maybe Harry needed to earn these good moods.

The thought made him start. Since when was he so desperate to please anybody? But one thing was certain— he needed to impress Mr. Rosier during this initial training.

Oh, but that tongue. The quick sliver of pink danced through his head as he wandered into the front room and looked around for a door. He needed to concentrate, couldn’t stand the thought of embarrassing himself on his first day because of this ridiculous infatuation. He had never even been interested in a man before, at least not like this. Yes, he had stared at a few men over the years, and sure, he might have had a few thoughts that had devolved into rather elaborate fantasies involving a few of his friends growing up, but, well—

“Are you lost, boy?”

Harry almost tripped over Mrs. Tonks, who was still hunched over on the floor, now sitting with a large potted plant clamped between her legs. “Oh, I’m so sorry ma’am! I’m trying to find the way downstairs.”

She jerked her head to the right. “Over there, it’s that door next to that stack of fertilizer.”

And there it was, clearly visible on the wall. A beam of sunlight was even shining on it like a spotlight. “Of course. I see it. Thank you.”

She merely humphed, muttering to herself as he walked away about idiotic children traipsing around her greenhouse.

Teki trotted up from some hidden corner to greet him, weaving around his legs as he tried to shake off the sting to his pride. He crouched down to say hello to her and she bumped her head against his hand before prancing off into the thicket of plants. Feeling somewhat better, he tried the lock on the door. A violent tremor shot up his arm as the door swung open, revealing a long staircase leading down into murky shadows. He took them slowly, not wanting to slip on the slick cement. The temperature dropped as he moved, reminding him of the dungeons back at Hogwarts.

The resemblance didn’t end at the temperature. He walked into a large chamber, entombed on all sides by rough stone, the ceiling matted with patches of moss. If anything, this was even creepier than the Hogwarts dungeons. There was a single cauldron in the center of the chamber, taller than him and large enough to fit a dozen people. It was dangling off a huge set of hooks over a small green fire, billowing steam into the room. He crept up to it for a better look, unable to come too close without being scorched by the heat.

“And who in the seven eyes of God are you?”

Harry jumped, shouting in pain as his arm brushed against the scalding hot cauldron, and spun around to see a wretched old man glaring at him, having emerged from a back hall. He was very short, mostly due to being so hunched forward, dressed in heavy, stain-splattered brown robes. A few wiry hairs sprung from his liver-spotted scalp, even more shooting from his ears. He squinted at Harry behind tiny spectacles as if Harry was the one with spiderwebs tangled in his knee-length beard.

“Didn’t mean to disturb you, Mr. Rosier—”

“Rosier. Just Rosier.” His scowl only deepened, carving across his heavily wrinkled face.

“Ahh, right. My name’s Harry Potter, I’m the new hire.” He clutched the burn on his arm, trying to not wince at the pain.

“What are you, an idiot? Take care of that arm, boy.”

This was the second time Harry had been called an idiot in as many minutes and he was too distracted by the burn to think clearly. “I— er, no, it’s fine. Mr. Snape sent me to you for a tour and to learn how things are done around here.”

“Blasted fool. What does he think, that I’m made of time?” He turned away, his movements surprisingly nimble considering the sizable hump on his back. “It’s no use to argue with children. Come with me.”

They moved down the hall into what appeared to be a storage room. Rosier began digging through a cabinet, hovering a few inches off the floor to reach the top shelf. Harry marveled at his casual use of wandless magic, wondering if everybody at Prima Materia used it so flippantly. A small tin flew through the air, nailing him in the side of his head. He fought to catch the tin before it hit the floor, juggling it awkwardly between his hands.

Rosier seemed unamused, still hovering “Burn ointment. Use it.”

“Thank you,” Harry muttered as he rolled up his sleeve. The ointment soothed the inflamed skin immediately, settling it back to its regular tone.

“Been here all of five minutes and already hurting yourself. We’ll see how long you last, boy. We’ll see,” Rosier scoffed and dropped back onto the floor, bending his knees as he landed before rushing back into the hall, waving a hand for Harry to follow. “That was the main stockroom. There is another stockroom two stories down. This right here is the fruiting room, where you will be spending a great deal of time tending to the various fungi. Very important ingredients, they are.”

Harry stood on his tiptoes to peer into the room through a small open window in the door, a musty smell hitting his nose. He looked back to see Rosier was well down the hall, so he hurried to catch up. The man was talking as he walked, as if unaware that he had left Harry behind. They passed two separate brewing rooms filled with simmering cauldrons, which the old man referred to as self-sufficient brews. That seemed to mean they were nearly done and needed minimal additional work until they were ready for bottling. There were also prep rooms, bottling and labeling rooms, and various laboratories for different stages of the brewing process. It seemed overwhelmingly complex and Harry had the distinct impression that he was in way over his head.

The hallway ended at another stairwell leading even further underground. Rosier sighed, propping his withered fists on his hips. “I suppose I’m meant to show you the next two floors as well. Keep in mind that I’ll cut out your tongue if word of what you find here gets out. This is my life’s work, the last thing I need is some meddling child getting his sticky little fingers all over my recipes.”

“Oh, no, sir. I would never,” Harry said, and he meant it. He tried to maintain a respectful distance as they traveled down the steps. It was a steep way down, but the man seemed remarkably spry.

A raspy growl heaved out of the man as they walked. “What are you doing here anyway? I can’t begin to imagine what was going through Severus’s mind taking on a whelp like you.”

“I suppose I felt a calling.” They stepped out onto the second level and Rosier stopped, glaring at Harry as he waited for him to continue, but Harry was at a loss for words. It wasn’t as if he could confess to this man that it had all started because he had grown tired of his life of semi-crime and poverty, and thought his NEWTs were impressive enough to get the job. That the job posting had been worded so outlandishly that he thought he had a chance. He was even less likely to tell the man that he had become somewhat obsessed with the owner and would happily consider following him to the ends of the earth after just one unforgettable night. “I needed a change and everything seemed to guide me to being here. Coincidences kept lining up, so here I am.”

“Good enough as any reason, I suppose.” Shockingly enough, Rosier seemed to approve of the response. “And it’s good he found someone so young. More impressionable that way. I hate breaking bad habits. Come along now.”

The second story of the dungeon seemed just like the first; the walls were drab and the floors were cold, everything devoid of decoration. There were dozens of active cauldrons simmering in the five or so rooms, and they all required more attention than the mostly self-sufficient ones kept upstairs. Rosier took a break from their tour to tend to a few, dashing between them with the dexterity of somebody decades his junior. Harry wondered if he would ever tend to the potions with such confidence.

There was so much to remember. How could he possibly retain all of this information when he could hardly recall if his own mother was alive or not? The thought made him feel sick as if he were trapped in some dreadful nightmare.

He decided to focus on what he knew to be true. His mother was alive. He had just seen her the other day. She was alive and loved him very much. He had just been hired by Severus Snape. Had just had sex with him too. His best friend was attacked by a horrible monster because Harry had left him all alone and it was _all Harry’s fault_. He was recently divorced and Voldemort had just killed him in the woods outside of Hogwarts and—

He felt dizzy and tried to focus on Rosier’s hunched back, on the chill of the dungeon surrounding them. The long monotonous stone walls were playing odd tricks on his mind. He didn’t even know what “Voldemort” meant.

Insecurity gnawed at him as they continued down to the third story, where Rosier reiterated his threat to cut out Harry’s tongue, this time with an added mention of poison. The third floor was where the most valuable potions were kept, the most potent of healing potions and the more exotic and experimental brews. Harry wondered if this was where that peacock concoction he had tried with Bill and Draco was made. Nothing was marked—it was all kept locked up in Rosier’s practiced mind.

Rosier would occasionally stop to quiz him on basic potion knowledge, seeming considerably more friendly after Harry answered him easily enough. “I suppose this is a great deal of information for you to take in at once, but at least Severus had the sense to hire somebody with a young and pliable brain. Give it seventy years or so and you’ll manage these halls just as well as I. Provided you make it that long.” He wheezed out a laugh, seeming almost oddly affectionate. It was a vast difference from before.

Harry wondered how often he had the chance to talk to anybody but himself and his rows upon rows of steaming cauldrons. “And how long have you been in the potion business, sir?”

“Longer than the sun has burned in the sky, or so it feels. I reckon longer than your parents have been alive. I mentored Severus’ mentor, if that tells you anything.” It seemed a reasonable answer. “Now come along, I may as well show you the worst of it all.”

A large spider scurried across the floor as they entered the last room at the end of the lowest level. It was less drab than the others, lined with rows of brilliant colored flowers along the walls, with only half a dozen large cauldrons occupying the center. The air was heavy with smoke and smelled spicy, like a wood stove seasoned with nutmeg. It made Harry’s eyes water.

“Alright boy, come close and see. I hope you aren’t too concerned with the mortal laws of this land.”

 _Mortal laws_? What a strange way to phrase it. “Not particularly, sir. Being an ex-Auror will do that to a person. Now that was a bad match. All that bureaucracy and worrying about doing everything by the book—”

“Yes, yes, thank you but I don’t recall asking for your life story. Everything in this room tends to run on the less than legal side, you see. Untested, not yet confirmed for public markets. But we all need our little pet projects, don’t we?”

“I suppose so. What are they?”

“Experimental concoctions and hybrid flora. Your new employer has a predilection for mind-expanding substances, you see. Not to say we don’t all have our favored vices.” He gestured toward a row of potted plants. They were like short trees, with long dark green leaves and brilliant orange bean-like pods. “That shrub over there produces a root that works as an excellent stimulant, it’s a necessity for keeping this place afloat. You’ll find that out all too soon. But Severus makes it an art form.”

Harry thought of that drop of gold, the lineup of colorful joints filling a silver cigarette case and nodded. “I suppose you may as well take advantage of the tools given to you.”

“Too right. But used in moderation and all that.” Rosier swatted his hand as if dismissing the cautioning words and peered into a cauldron. He withdrew a ladle from a pocket deep in his robe. “Let’s give this one a try, shall we?”

He didn’t wait for a response before dipping in the ladle and pulling out a wad of brilliant orange slime, long taffy-like ribbons plopping back into the brew in gooey strands. Rosier sniffed it before twisting some around his fingers and shoving it into his mouth. He landed on the floor and gestured for Harry to come forward, offering him a wad of the orange slime with what might have been intended as an inviting expression.

“Err, what is it?”

“Oh, he’s a careful one. Nothing too dangerous, boy, not dangerous at all. Simple chewing gum. It makes the mind speed up a few ticks, rather like diving into a cold lake but far less uncomfortable. Go on, no need to be shy. Just don’t swallow it, the digestive tract isn’t meant for this sort of thing.”

Harry would never have expected to feel so pressured into trying an unfamiliar substance by such a strange little man. He took the offered wad and tucked it into his cheek and Rosier nodded approvingly, snapping his own like gum. It took a moment of chewing but a tingling rush flew up Harry’s sinuses directly into his brain, jolting alive behind his eyes. Everything sharpened into clarity. It was as if he had finally remembered to put on his glasses. The individual veins of each leaf lining the walls jumped to attention, every color significantly more vibrant. He could hear the way the fire beneath the cauldron closest to the door seemed to sputter as if it needed more fuel.

Rosier noticed him glance toward it. “Go on then, tend to it. Fuel is in that cupboard there.”

He checked the cupboard, passing over a few options in favor of some red cedar logs. It would produce a similar scent and level of smoke that had already filled the room and Rosier didn’t stop him when he poked a few logs into the flame, so he assumed he had made an accurate decision. The logs crackled in the fire in a way that seemed just right, so he stepped back and saw Rosier hovering even higher than before over another cauldron. The old man was tipped forward in the air, dipping his ladle into the simmering potion.

Harry crossed his arms and admired how confidently the man moved through the air. “You’re going to have to teach me that spell, you know.”

Rosier laughed, his voice harsh and scraping through his throat. “Is that right? You’d be better off pestering Severus, he’s meant to be your teacher, is he not?”

Harry supposed that was true, but Snape hadn’t even begun talking about actual spellwork. Just… self-awareness and exercising basic first year material. “I reckon if I asked him about that he’d tell me I’m years off.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, boy. Do your best to keep up and you’ll be zipping around with me in no time.” He took a sip from his ladle and made a disgusted face and shook it out, flinging purple droplets back into the cauldron. “Too sour. But I’ll need you useful if you plan on working here.”

It occurred to Harry that Rosier could be the secret to unlocking the mystery that was Severus Snape. “Is he always so serious? I constantly get the impression that he’s barely tolerating me.”

“Seriously severe Severus.” Rosier snickered and dropped to the floor. “I’ve known that one since he was a little sprout. He is very set in his ways, very particular, and controlling to boot. But it makes me wonder…” He rushed toward Harry with far too much speed, skimming his toes just above the floor. Harry took a step back, leaning away from Rosier’s hot breath. “You think you see something special in him, don’t you? That’s just the wyrd talking, boy. It clings to Severus, claimed him a long time ago, and I can see it’s working its way into you now, too.”

Yeah, either that or Snape was so unspeakably attractive that Harry couldn’t help but obsess over him. That was a far more realistic explanation. He had heard of people being claimed by magic before. That was another term for being corrupted by it, getting addicted to the unregistered stuff. While the average magician could work with any sort of magic without too much cause for concern, it took idiots like those dead cultists in the parking lot to allow themselves to be claimed by it. That only happened after years and years of delving into the worst, most dangerous magic. But that couldn’t apply to Snape, the man was far too stable and practical, and it certainly wasn’t going to claim himself. “I’ve seen enough to know better than that. I’ll be careful. I just find Mr. Snape… admirable.”

Rosier snorted. “Indeed. Now come along, boy, I still haven’t shown you the flobberworm farm.”


	10. Stalling

A dozen simmering cauldrons filled the cramped dungeon chamber, arranged neatly in three long rows. An identical fire burned steadily beneath each cauldron, each fueled with three oak logs. Burr oak, to be precise, and each was smoothed down to approximately the same shape. This ensured each potion would be brewed at the exact same temperature. They were preparing a massive order of healing draughts for St. Mungo’s, and any variations could put a whole batch at risk. It was part of the reason why Harry had been hired in the first place, since the new contract meant a drastic and continuous increase in work. Prima Materia was transitioning from a specialty shop into something bigger. Rosier’s eyes had practically turned into galleons as he had explained the situation. Everything had to be perfect, lest they lose the contract. Which meant Harry had to be perfect, too.

“Come here, boy. I have something to show you.” Harry looked up from the cauldron he was hunched over, sweat prickling his brow and glasses foggy with condensation. Rosier was standing next to a table against the wall, knife in hand and scowling. “Well come on, hurry up.”

Harry had been working with the man for a few days now, and to say he was overwhelmed would be an understatement. Wincing at the thought of leaving the potion unfinished, Harry set down the cup of shredded wormwood leaves he had been painstakingly adding to the brew on a nearby stool and approached the table, where Rosier had an unfamiliar neon yellow root pinned down between his middle and index fingers. “What is that?”

“A glowmoot. I reckon you’ve never seen one of these before, so I thought I’d show you how to properly dice one.”

The little root shrieked as if it was alive when Rosier chopped into it, the shrill cry making them both wince. Harry tried to watch, but the unattended cauldron was distracting, and he kept looking back at it. It was almost impossible to keep track of everything he needed to do, and being called away to watch this demonstration was derailing his entire plan of action.

Rosier seemed to notice his distress, as he noticed everything else that happened in his dungeon. He swept the chopped root to the side of his cutting board with his knife and squinted up at Harry through his glasses. “You look tired, boy.”

“Just… distracted.” Harry glanced back at his cauldron. Shit—was that smoke supposed to look so purple?

“I’ve noticed you’ve neglected to chew that gum like I told you to. Mind explaining why?” Wrinkled hands moved the diced root into a glass jar, pushing the cork down tight with his thumbs before setting it aside on a shelf full of bottles over the table.

Harry shrugged, tensing his eyes in hopes of tricking his mind into focusing better. It was fine. He was doing so well cutting out everything in an attempt to better straighten out his mind and his spiraling memories—he hadn’t had any alcohol since the Leaky Cauldron, was down to one cigarette a day, and only smoked the occasional joint with Bill before going to bed. Even that was starting to lose its appeal, as it was a guaranteed way to unleash a fresh onslaught of confusing memories. Stressful, frightening memories of a life entirely unlike the one he knew. The very last thing he needed was to be dependent on some new thing, especially something as addictively useful as that gum. He wanted some, he really did, but the thought of not _having_ to have it was too appealing. “I don’t want to be reliant on it.”

Rosier scoffed and smacked the back of Harry’s head. “Selfish idiot. You setting this whole place on fire while inevitably bumbling into some catastrophe because you’re not concentrating well enough is more dangerous than anything the gum would do to you.” He shoved his fist into his pocket and withdrew a handful of tins. “Here’s enough to last you the week and be sure to ask for more when you’re out. There’s plenty to go around. Either you have some whenever you are in my dungeon or you get out now.”

Scowling, Harry opened a tin and took out a piece of bright orange gum. It was the same substance Rosier had given him on his first day, left to solidify before being cut into tiny cubes, and sure enough, the moment he popped the piece into his mouth everything fell back into place with a rush of electric alertness. He returned to his cauldron and added half a handful of wormwood leaves, giving the potion one solid stir with just enough momentum to keep everything in motion until it was time to add some more. Carrying the cup of leaves, he moved down the row of cauldrons and did the same thing to each of them. It was simple, all a matter of understanding the potions, and getting into an intuitive flow between their needs and his schedule.

“Feeling better yet?” Rosier said. Harry turned around to see Rosier smirking at him, looking triumphant, as if he had won an argument.

“Yes, sir. Thank you for the drugs, sir.” Harry rolled his eyes but grinned, feeling the crackle of perfect concentration skim along his mind. This wasn’t so bad. At least it helped keep him too busy to dwell on other things.

Rosier grabbed another glowmoot and resumed chopping, and Harry reached across him to pluck another from a jar. “See? Everything we make here is medicine. Well, most everything. Remind me to set aside my morning tincture blend for you as well. Seems you’ll be sticking around, so I’ll need you at your best.”

“Don’t you ever worry about what all of that is going to do to your body over time?” Harry asked, pinning the glowmoot between his fingers before cutting it with precise speed.

“That’s what restoratives are for.” Rosier peered at him a moment. “So, might as well address your other problem while we’re at it. How are you getting along with Severus?”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s been mostly unavailable, always keeping his door shut. I don’t want to pester him, so I haven’t bothered knocking or anything.”

“Fool.” Rosier struck the back of Harry’s head again before grabbing another glowmoot. “The man is supposed to be your teacher, so go demand some knowledge from him, for crying out loud. He’s a very isolated creature, and prone to inventing issues for the sake of having something to mope over. Go pound on his door until he lets you in.”

“You’re right, you’re right. I’ll try to talk to him tonight,” Harry muttered, rubbing the back of his head.

And he did. That evening, he went right up to Snape’s door and knocked three times, then hung back a while before knocking again, but Andromeda—as she insisted upon Harry calling her after his first day—told him he had already left for the night. Not knowing what else to do, Harry went home, determined to try again in the morning, but the man was extremely late the following day and Harry was forced to head to the dungeon before Rosier came looking for him.

It almost seemed as if Snape was avoiding him. They rarely saw each other, and when they did, Snape spoke to him with abrupt responses and rushed promises to attend to whatever questions Harry could possibly come up with when “Rosier was done with him”—whatever that meant. It was strange and rather hurtful, making Harry wonder if he had done something wrong, but he had no idea what could have happened. As pathetic as it sounded, he missed Snape. He had been looking forward to getting to know him better, had hoped that maybe there was something growing between them. Clearly he had been mistaken.

So Harry retreated to the dungeon. He fell into an easy routine over his first week. His tasks were surprisingly simple, even fun, as long as he kept chewing that gum. It was the only way to keep his mind quick and sharp enough to keep up with Rosier. The tincture Rosier gave him helped too—just a few drops added to his morning coffee kept him alert and full of energy all day long. He took over the St. Mungo’s order entirely, while Rosier maintained the rest of the potion shop’s inventory. Healing potions and antibacterial ointments followed the same standard recipes he had mastered years ago back in school, but even the more experimental brews followed the same logic as any other. Rosier seemed appreciative of his presence and no longer scowled at him, although he still referred to him as ‘boy’, much to Harry’s annoyance.

He also quickly learned that the whole staff used a variety of substances, both recreationally, and in order to juggle the store’s immense workload. Harry hadn’t found out what that gold substance Snape had used was, but according to Rosier, that was only one of many that Snape used throughout the day. The whole staff had their preferences.

Andromeda was the designated gardener and preferred mind-altering herbs. Some of them were as common as tobacco and cannabis, but she also favored experimental hybrid plants grown in the back greenhouse where Harry rarely ventured. She said they were meant to help her better understand her plants and their needs, and given the explosion of life filling her greenhouses, they worked. She gave Harry dozens of blends to try at home, with plenty to share with Bill.

Rosier was mostly concerned with stimulants and refused to touch anything that would “remind him of his old age”, which seemed to mean anything that didn’t send him shooting through the dungeon like a rocket. Harry thought it was a marvel that his withered little heart could handle the strain, but he seemed as spry and healthy as somebody half his age.

It was less easy to say what Snape preferred, secretive as he was, closed away in his office, but the other two confided that he likely wouldn’t be able to pick a favorite.

But it seemed Harry was doing well, at least when it came to the daily tasks at the shop. While Snape had scarcely said more than two words to him since his first day, those two little words had burned into him like a loose ember nestled in dry grass—“Well done”.

His confidence flagged, however, when he’d return home to attempt another round of journaling. He had almost filled three pages, excluding the train sketch, but those two basic questions presented by Snape continued to stump him. Every time he tried to focus, tried to trek back into his memories to pull forth anything worth writing about, they would slip away into anxiety and a flailing sense of inactivity that stuck with him for hours. Once that happened, only smoking quietly with Bill into the late hours of the night seemed to keep him calm. The foundational information Snape had asked for was there, Harry knew it was. He could feel his past woven around him like a perfectly broken-in coat, but for some reason directing too much attention toward it was like lobbing a stone at a flock of birds.

 _How did you come to be here?_ A train had brought him, hadn’t it? _How did you come to be engaged in this work?_ Well. He had no idea.

Bill caught him sitting on the sidewalk beside the half-open garage door, chewing on his pencil with his eyes closed, desperately trying to control his mutinous mind as a street light flickered overhead. The sun had set hours ago, leaving only the cold and the dark. He had hoped both would help him think, but they only left him feeling more alone.

“What are you working on?” Bill had approached so silently he made Harry jump. Harry took a moment to examine him under the flickering light before replying. His eyes were doing better, likely better than the rest of him. It had only been a couple of days, but whatever ointment he had used was working wonders. They were still very bloodshot, but it seemed he could see just fine. The night terrors keeping him up were another matter entirely.

It was too stressful. Between Bill’s situation and his own confusing mind, he felt like he was losing his grip on reality. He pushed his brow against the heel of his hand, feeling a tension headache coming on. “It’s this same stupid assignment I’ve been fighting with all week.”

“Huh. Have you talked to Snape about it?” Bill’s voice was so flat, so dull. He stood there like a marionette dangling loose on its strings, dressed in a worn maroon bathrobe and ratty slippers. It looked as if all of the fight had run from him.

“Well, er, no. He hasn’t asked to see it yet, and I haven’t seen much of him anyway. Think he might be avoiding me.”

“Well you should track him down, yeah? He’s supposed to be teaching you all this, so he needs to know if you’re struggling. You know he’s not a mind reader, right?”

Harry laughed. “He kind of is, though. He offered to help by using Legilimency on me, but I don’t know about all that.”

“Oh, that’s impressive.” Bill seemed sincere, but his voice was soft, his eyes cast down on the ground. “You should do it. It’ll be perfect. Great way for you two to bond.” He patted Harry’s shoulder before leaning back against the wall. “Try focusing on how pretty you think he is so he’ll see it, and he’ll be like putty in your hands.”

Harry really could not picture Snape as anything remotely putty-like—the man was far too stiff and dignified. “I think I’d drop dead from embarrassment, honestly. And I want to show him I can do this myself. It’s just…” He sighed and stared up at the cloudy sky. How could he explain his situation? He had a desperate need to tell _somebody_ before it drove him absolutely mad, but most people would assume he already was with such an outrageous story. Bill was likely the only person that wouldn’t immediately mark him as crazy. “Can I tell you something? And promise not to laugh? Or uh… think I’ve lost it completely.”

“Sure, mate. What is it?” He sounded as if he was barely listening.

“I…” Oh, how to even begin? “I think I might have the memories of two different lives.”

Bill blinked, as if in surprise. He seemed to come out of himself somewhat. “What, like... there are two different people in your head?”

“Two different mes… two different me? There’s two of me. I think.”

“Oh. Well that’s something. Huh.” Bill shoved his hands into his robe pockets and stared off down the empty street. “Feels like arse out here. Come on, let’s go inside.” He shuffled back into the garage, grabbing onto the bottom of the rolling door as he ducked under it.

Bill moved through the garage as if he had aged several decades, but his dexterity rivaled Rosier’s when he crossed his legs on the floor and unfastened a complicated puzzle lock attached to the end of a long metal tube. The top slipped off and he shook the tube out into his hand. A couple of sachets full of blue lotus petals Andromeda had given Harry a few days ago fell out. Bill put all but one back and set aside the tube, then unfastened the thin velvet lace drawing the sachet shut. A pile of pale blue flower petals the length of his index finger spilled onto his palm. He sorted out a few of them, lining them up in a neat row on his lap.

Harry sent a dirty plate to the sink and moved some laundry to the corner with his wand before joining Bill on the floor. This time of night was usually when they were getting ready to head to the pub or to follow some lead Bill had picked up from his spirit contacts, but neither of them had the energy to do much of anything lately. Not when Harry had to wake up so early and Bill was… recovering. He leaned back, propping his elbows on the bare mattress to stare up at the colorful string lights, worrying his lower lip with his teeth. The situation had been brewing in the back of his mind for days now, but he had no idea how to describe it. He figured it’d be best to start from the beginning.

“I guess it all started a couple of days ago. I’ve been getting these bursts of confusion, like I’m someplace I’m not meant to be. I know this sounds absolutely ridiculous but I feel like I’m from a different world. A different timeline, maybe? I’m the same person but everything is different. I’m older here, too, like _way_ older. I keep…”

He trailed off, staring at Bill, looking for some indication that he had gone mad and needed to stop talking, but Bill merely returned his gaze and handed him a braided bundle of petals. Harry considered it for a moment. Andromeda had given him the sachet, telling him the petals produced a smoke that helped both the body and the mind relax, hoping it would help him fall asleep after he had off-handedly mentioned having nightmares lately. He took it but he didn’t light it, instead fiddling with the little twist of blue as he talked. “Well, I keep feeling like something horrible is happening at Hogwarts. And it’s happening _right now_. I’m supposed to be a student there, facing some awful thing.” He sighed and looked back up at Bill, who had lit the tip of his bundle of petals and was inhaling a thin stream of smoke through his nose. “Does the word Voldemort mean anything to you?”

Bill’s eyebrows shot up. A cloud of smoke rolled out of his mouth as he spoke. “You mean that batty old monster holed up in his tower in Albania?”

“Wait, that’s an actual person? No way.”

“Yeah, he’s a real piece of work. I had to study some of his books back in the day. He’s a pretty obscure authority on medieval wyrdcrafting. Seems he tried to start a revolution in Britain back when he was a kid, but it died down before it made much progress. So he left the country and got all scholarly. I don’t know how he managed to avoid Azkaban other than probably being too powerful to be captured, but there’s a massive amount of work written by that man. I hated reading it. So full of itself.”

“Well, I sometimes have blindingly clear memories of fighting a man named Voldemort at Hogwarts. It feels as if we have a whole history together.”

“History, eh?” Bill nudged him, laughing lightly. It seemed like the lotus flower was already helping him unwind.

“Gross, mate. Not like that. The man looks like… like a skeleton had sex with a snake.” He shoved Bill’s arm, grinning. It was good to hear Bill laugh, despite everything.

Harry reconsidered the bundle of petals pinched between his fingers and decided to give it a try. Andromeda was right, he needed to get some sleep. He picked up his wand and used it to light his bundle, holding it over a small flame shooting out of the tip of his wand before holding it under his nose. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in through his nose, holding it a moment before exhaling thin blue smoke out of his mouth. “It’s like my whole life was based around him giving me shit. I think he even killed my parents, so I had to live with the Dursleys.”

The concept was too awful to dwell on, but a moment after he exhaled, all of those childhood memories sprung to life, like tiny flowers opening on a long vine creeping through his thoughts. The lotus petals worked quickly, loosening his anxiety, but they let the memories flow, dreamlike, hovering in the passage between the deeper corners of his sleeping and his waking mind. He thought of severe isolation, malnutrition, of being locked away in a dark and cramped space for hours at a time. Tiny arms covered in a layer of unwashed grime wrapped around aching legs, with only spiders for company. Other-Harry had clearly survived a childhood full of abuse. His chest ached at the thought. He knew the Dursleys were awful people, but were they _that_ bad?

“Huh. But meanwhile you also remember growing up living a blissfully typical life with Lily and James?”

He felt like crying and shook his head slightly, trying to banish the hurt and loneliness and desperate sense of helplessness. “Uh-huh. And I have no doubt that’s real. I remember being seen off by my parents the first day of Hogwarts just as well as I remember the Dursleys trying to stop me from going. It’s like the memories are stacked on top of each other. It’s like… Um, like my memories are a pond and I’m standing in the middle of them. The ones closest to the top are real, but sometimes it’s hard to tell which ones are deeper? It’s hard to keep track of what’s true or not. And sometimes the fake ones rise up out of nowhere and grab onto me.”

“Wow.” Bill stared down at the floor. It seemed like he was following along. A lock of stringy hair fell over his eye and he leaned back against the bed, taking a deep breath in and exhaling soft blue smoke. The cloud hovered on the light of the street lamp shining through the thin cloth curtains, diffusing a bluish glow through the dim room. Bill took another breath and blew out a puff of smoke in the shape of an owl, sending it sailing through the room. It burst apart as it flattened against the opposite wall. “You really need to tell Snape about this, mate. I can’t believe I’m the one preaching responsibility, but he needs to know.”

“But… What if he thinks I’m…” Harry paused, focusing on the orange glow crawling up the burning petals before breathing in. He exhaled a stag with branching antlers, and sent it prancing out into the patch of light. Bill blew a wide triangle and the stag dashed through it. “What if he fires me? Or loses whatever respect he might have for me?”

“You signed a contract, right? He might not be able to fire you over this. And as for respect, well, maybe he’s the type that would find this more fascinating than off-putting. He’s a scholar, isn’t he?”

“But I’m starting to worry this happened from some drug thing.” Harry barely mumbled the response, feeling so guilty to make such a confession with smoke streaming out of his mouth. So much for deciding he was done with mind-altering substances that weren’t directly related to work.

“That wouldn’t make much sense, otherwise I’d have some issue too, right? We were sharing everything when this started happening.” There was a long, uncomfortable pause. Harry didn’t want to say it, he really didn’t want to say what was on his mind, but Bill said it for him. “You think I’m already some other sort of mad, don’t you? It’s fine, so does everybody else. I’m sure the nightmares haven’t been helping.”

He had that right. Bill seemed to spend more time wailing and thrashing in his bed than he did sleeping ever since that thing had attacked him. Not to mention the way Harry occasionally caught him muttering to himself, how he was even more withdrawn and drained of energy than before. Bill seemed to be wilting, and Harry didn’t know what to do for him. Harry shrugged, staring down at his hands as he spoke. “I don’t know, mate. Maybe there’s just something off in my brain.”

They were silent a while. Harry chewed on his thumbnail, bobbing in and out of a dizzying tumble of strange memories— _A man with another man on the back of his head, full of hate and spitting rage. Dementors at Hogwarts, dementors swooping down on Dudley while Harry stood over him with his wand outstretched. Snape towering over him, sneering. A young man dying before his eyes in a flash of green. Gryffindors cheering him on as he grabbed the Snitch. Triumph and love and fear. Dumbledore regarding him carefully, and red, red eyes, watching. Always watching, deep in his mind_ —while Bill braided and lit another petal bundle.

“You need to tell him.” A loose puff of smoke exhaled with Bill’s words, scattering Harry’s thoughts.

Harry heaved a deep sigh. “I know. I will.”

“When?”

Harry shrugged, then rolled his head from side to side. He closed his eyes as the tense cords of muscles connecting his shoulders to his neck loosened, relaxing on the buoyant weight of the blue smoke filling the room. His thoughts slowed, leaving his mind blissfully empty for a long moment. Maybe the lotus petals would help after all. “In the morning, I guess. No use in putting it off any longer.”

“Right-o. Excellent. And hey, if you get fired, you can help me pick up the trail on that eyefucker.” Bill chuckled softly, but it seemed forced and strained.

That was the last thing Harry wanted to do. He had done enough of that, had faced enough monsters as it was. The very thought of looking for that thing after it had possessed some poor woman and forced her to attack Bill made his stomach turn before the smoke smoothed it away. He studied the wounds on Bill’s face a moment before looking away, thinking of those corpses in the parking lot. It could have been so much worse. Bill was lucky to have escaped with his life. “So is it still causing a fuss in London?”

“Causing a fuss.” Bill fully laughed that time, a bitter sound entirely lacking in real humor. “Yeah, and then some. I’ve got connections all around Britain, you know, and from what I’m hearing, it’s traveling. Might be worldwide by this time next month.”

That was genuinely terrifying. He had witnessed plenty of weird parasitic byproducts from street magic—or wyrdcrafting, as he was supposed to call it now—but something that dangerous running loose for so long was completely unheard of. But honestly, it really wasn’t his problem anymore. He had made the decision to focus on his new career instead of monster hunting, and he had enough to worry about as it was. “Sounds like a job for the Ministry at this point.”

“They’ll figure it out soon enough. No need to get our names attached to it. The way it’s looking, we could face jail time for not reporting it. I mean, chances are high the only reason it’s still on the loose is because we cleared away all traces of magic after we checked the murder site.” His laugh seemed genuine this time, possibly tinged with hysteria.

Harry groaned, sliding his knees up to press against his face. _Was this all their fault_? His stomach churned, heavy with stress. So much stress he could feel his brain begin to boil over, frothing dark purple against the lotus flower’s blueish fog.

Bill stood up, dusting ashes off his pants with his hands onto the floor. “Well, I’m off. Got a hot date tonight.”

Harry looked up at him, surprised. “That so? Who with?”

“Couple of nymphs. Hope you don’t need the tub tonight, mate, it’s going to be crowded in there.” And with that he strode off into the bathroom, firmly shutting the door behind him.

Fantastic. Just when Bill was starting to convince him that things weren’t as bad as they seemed, he had to go and pull this sort of behavior. Harry sat up and braided another bundle of petals, figuring if he’d lost his mind he might as well indulge however he pleased, but he was forced to retreat to his car-turned-bedroom when an assortment of disturbing noises echoing in the tiny bathroom started up, washed over with more of that pulsing Fleur-like music.

Exhaustion washed over him at the thought of his looming conversation with Snape. He left the journal in his pocket, ignored the way it landed on the floor with a soft thump. Trying his best to not fret over its neglected pages, he immediately fell asleep, carried into a quiet place made of soft blue smoke too heavy to let through any dreams.

Morning came too soon, same as it always did, but he felt remarkably well rested after a dreamless night. He said good morning to Hedwig and set out some food for her before taking a quick shower, trying to not dwell on what Bill had done in there only hours ago. He put on a simple pair of trousers and a robe he didn’t mind staining, then aparated to the sidewalk just outside Prima Materia, bringing along an apple for breakfast.

He held the door open for Andromeda on his way in. She was wearing one of her typical dresses, the same style as the one he had initially assumed was threadbare and ragged. Upon closer inspection, it was actually made of layers and layers of intricate colorful lace that he supposed was meant to look like greenery. Today, her outfit was topped with a rather striking hat made of a stuffed raven perched on a thorny nest, its beak open and wings stretched out wide and low to frame her loose brown hair.

“Hello, ma’am. You’re looking rather fetching this morning.”

She peered at him as she passed, as if questioning his sincerity before cracking into a grin. The overhead lights flickered on automatically as she walked inside. “I’m visiting my sisters tonight, thought I’d liven things up a bit. Cissy just hates it when I flaunt my style.”

“Cissy? You don’t mean Narcissa, do you?” A cat darted inside after him as the door swung shut and vanished into a cluster of ferns.

“I most certainly do. The very same one who is seeing your mother.”

Teki sauntered up to Harry with a soft cry and he scooped her up in his arms, where she wriggled up to perch on his shoulders. Her claws dug into his skin through his robe and he gritted his teeth against the pain, ducking down slightly and lifting his arms to help her balance. She kicked off his back, launching onto a nearby table with a loud thud. He tilted back up, smiling widely as Andromeda laughed at the display. “I never would have guessed you two were related. You’re… much more laid back than her.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, dear.” She chuckled and turned her attention to a dense shrub filled with sparkling glass-like berries.

Harry supposed there was no more delaying the inevitable, but he killed a bit of time greeting a few more cats before turning toward Snape’s office. He counted four prowling the greenhouse that day, which was an unusually low amount. Some days he swore he counted over a dozen, and he still wasn’t entirely sure where they were coming from. Maybe he could use that as an ice-breaker with Snape. Because that would go over well. _Hi there. Mind if I come in to see if you have a secret cat-spawning device in here? While I’m at it, let me tell you how I’ve completely lost my mind._

There was no use in delaying the inevitable. Dreadful anticipation crept through his chest as he headed toward the door. He knocked, and the door cracked open a moment later. A low voice trickled out of the dark room. “Come in, if you must.”

The lights were dimmed and everything was motionless save for a spiral of smoke lifting from an incense cone placed on a small dish directly beneath Snape’s head, which was clutched between his hands, elbows propped up on his desk. His hair was limp in his face and he looked up with tired eyes. “Yes? What is it?”

“I— ah, are you alright, sir?”

“I am making an attempt. Did you need something?”

Harry figured he was probably hungover. “I can come back if now is a bad time…”

“Out with it, Mr. Potter.”

Harry wanted to sit down but there was no extra chair, so he stood, shoving his hands in his pockets as he considered fleeing the shop instead of facing the man. “I needed to talk to you about something. About the reason why I have been struggling to finish this assignment.”

“Surely you recall that this work was intended to be difficult. I have no expectations for you to finish it to an acceptable degree for quite a few more days.” He sounded irate, as if bothered by Harry’s very presence.

“Yes, sir, it’s just that I have come across an issue that might make this, ah—” He swallowed. Merlin, he was so nervous. “Insurmountable.”

Snape frowned and sat up. He waved his hand and the room grew brighter, though Harry saw no actual light source. “Go on.”

And so Harry told him everything. As much as he could muster, anyway. He had thought over this speech all night, hoping to weave everything together as well as he could. He explained his occasional waves of confusion, recounting his memories of a world quite unlike their own as well as he could. It was too nerve-wracking to watch Snape as he told it, so he focused his attention on the thin stream of incense smoke, letting the twisting blue hypnotize him into a steady cadence.

“So you see, sir, while I can recount my childhood and a lot of the foundational events in my life, there’s this constant pressing worry that I’m forgetting something else. I almost feel as if I’m not meant to be here, and my mind refuses to let me ignore that in order to focus on the assignment.”

He fell silent, fidgeting as Snape processed his story. Snape had folded his hands together as he listened, index fingers extended and pressed against his lips as he stared down at his desk. “I must say that is a new one.” He glanced up at Harry with what seemed like genuine curiosity. “And you say you were fighting somebody named Voldemort?”

“Yeah. Does the name sound familiar? Bill says that’s some author, but I had never heard of him before.”

“Not many have, save for those with rather niche areas of study, but yes, I am familiar with the man.” The corner of his lip quirked up, almost into a smile. “I can scarcely begin to imagine what series of events would lead to him attacking Hogwarts, but I suppose I couldn’t put it past him. But I have to ask, why you? Why were you so involved in this?”

The answer seemed to be on the tip of Harry’s tongue, but no matter how he tried, it evaded him. “I’m not entirely sure. I almost know, but I can’t quite figure it out.”

Snape nodded before opening the top drawer of his desk. He pulled out a sheet of paper and a quill and wrote down a quick note, which folded itself into an origami bird before flying out of the room. “I just wrote Rosier to excuse you for the day. We are going to get to the bottom of this.”

“Right now?”

“There is no time like the present.” Snape stood up, placing his hands on his desk to lean forward. “I believe that I have a few ideas for how to begin, but they would be rather unconventional. Would you do me the favor of trusting my judgment?”

Unconventional could mean anything when it came to Snape. Anything from fucking on a roof to ignoring his new apprentice for a week. Harry hesitated, worried he would only be shut out without warning again, but he had to admit that he was curious to see what Snape had in mind. “At this point, I’m willing to try anything.”

“Anything?” Snape raised a brow, his demeanour suddenly sharp yet playful. The exhaustion seemed to have fallen from his eyes, which were now watching Harry closely. “Be careful, Mr. Potter. Speaking in such a way is how one finds oneself being taken advantage of.”

The change in tone almost knocked Harry over. A faint squeak escaped his chest and he tensed to prevent any more embarrassing noises, squeezing his hands together behind his back as Snape circled around his desk to stand beside him. He was so close. His robes looked incredibly soft, and they smelled like frankincense and charcoal. Harry made himself look up to meet his eyes, silently pleading that he didn’t look as uncomfortable as he felt. “So, what are we doing?”

“We’re going on a little trip to my library,” Snape replied and held out his hand. Harry took it and squeezed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooooo _they're holding hands_
> 
> Huge thanks again to Mousewrites and Irrealia for being amazing betas and for being such constant sources of motivation <3 <3 <3


	11. The Library

They landed on Snape’s balcony once again, and Harry wondered why they never apparated directly inside. It was common practice to arrive in the kitchen or whichever room was also connected to the floo network. This was likely due to some sort of ward around the home, but it seemed rather unnecessary. Harry shivered as he waited for Severus to open the door, then turned and leaned over the railing enclosing the balcony, spitting out his gum. The last thing he needed was superhuman observational skills around somebody who made him so nervous.

The glass doors swung open and music once again began playing, a different track than the haughty instrumentals from before. It was more of a driving bass beat, low and quiet, rumbling through the floor. Snape waved a hand to turn the music off and strode through the room towards a door on the opposite wall. He had left the balcony door wide open, so Harry shut it and hurried after him. This was not the response to his confession Harry had been anticipating. He had expected accusations of lying, or more likely, a cold dismissal, considering how the week had gone. But here he was back in Snape’s home, and if the way the man swept into the hallway was any indication, Harry was suddenly being treated with a tour.

The hall attached to the front room was all dark hardwood floors and rich rugs, with green wallpaper covered in coiled snakes and delicate floral motifs. The man certainly had an aesthetic preference, one leaning toward the ostentatiously macabre. Harry had no idea how large the place was, but as the hall led to a narrow staircase, which took them down into a spacious entryway, he had the feeling it was quite big. Another hallway stretched off in every direction, save for the wall with the large front door.

“This is a nice place. Whole lot of space for one man.” Harry followed him down a hall toward another set of stairs. It was silent aside from the soft rhythm of their feet padding against the luxurious rugs, occasionally tapping against the bare wood floor.

Snape paused at the top of the stairs, his hand on the railing. “Too much space, actually. I spend most of my time in the basement.”

Harry followed him into the fully finished basement, where they turned down yet another hall. He had half expected to find a dungeon like the one at Prima Materia, but it was just as comfortable as the rest of the house. Snape led him into a sitting room. Shelves heavy with books lined the walls, giving a close and rather busy effect to what could have otherwise been a very spacious room. There was a piano nestled in the corner, a glossy black baby grand that fully blocked off a whole section of books. Piles of sheet music were stacked on top of its closed lid. A rug decorated with twisting floral patterns covered most of the floor, and a spacious red couch faced a large painting, an abstract image made of varying jewel-toned smears. It was the only decoration hanging on the otherwise full walls.

“So this is the trip? A visit to your den?” Harry cringed at himself, the snide words sort of tumbling out of him on a wave of nerves.

“I’ll have you know this is my library, and we are only on the first leg of our journey. Make yourself comfortable, we’re going to be here for a while.” Snape dragged a finger down the long line of buttons on the front of his robe. They unfastened one-by-one with a series of soft pops, revealing a plain black shirt and trousers. He left the robe open and moved across the room. A section of bookshelves vanished with a wave of his hand, revealing a shelf full of liquor bottles.

Harry realized he was staring. He felt a bit too warm, so he took off his coat before sitting down on the couch. He sank into the plush upholstery, looking about the room as Snape considered the bottles. _So many books_. There was an ornate display case beside the piano that likely held even more. He wondered if Snape would ever let him poke through the titles.

“Would you care for a drink?”

Harry looked over and saw Snape had finally picked a bottle. “Sure. Ah, no preference. I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

“Famous last words.” There was a light humor to his voice and he joined Harry on the couch a moment later, two glasses of amber liquid in hand, sitting just too close to not feel intimate.

Harry shifted, distracted by how close their legs were. He took a sip and his eyes widened. “This is fantastic. Scotch? What year is this?”

Snape seemed pleased by Harry’s appreciation. “Yes, it’s a 1558 McGonagall’s. You’re welcome to split the bottle with me tonight, if you’d like.”

“Wow, sure. That’s… generous of you.” Their knees were almost touching. He glanced down at their legs, suddenly feeling rather shy. Snape was acting so kind, so warm. What had been going on over the past week? Rosier had said Snape tended to come up with things to mope over. Maybe it was entirely unrelated to Harry, maybe he _hadn’t_ done anything wrong, but he didn’t want to risk ruining the mood by bringing it up. “So, I take it you want to perform Legilimency on me?”

“Yes, I believe it will come to that, if only to better understand what you are seeing. Tell me, Mr. Potter, do you find these memories more pressing when you are inebriated?”

“Yeah, they come up way more easily when I’m… well, yeah. When I’m inebriated.” Harry shrugged uncomfortably before taking a long sip of his scotch. Body heat radiated off of the man, like a star catching Harry in his gravitational field.

Snape raised an eyebrow, staring inquisitively. “And yet you continue to partake. Is this a dependency, or a desire to continue immersing yourself in these memories?”

Harry carefully considered his response, clutching his glass between his hands. “Well, I did try to stop, but then I supposed it would be wrong of me to fight them. It seems like they’re here for a reason, don’t you think?”

“I agree. I would have done the same.” Harry practically glowed at the approving tone. Snape understood. Of course he did. Knowing that somebody so intelligent and successful approved of his logic made him feel… really good. But he tensed when Snape suddenly frowned. “I only wish you had come to me sooner. What did Rosier say when you told him?”

That threw Harry off. Why would he expect Harry to tell Rosier first? “I didn’t. I only told Bill last night, and now you. And you weren’t exactly easy to track down.”

“Ah.” Snape replied with such a clipped tone before sipping his drink. “I was under the impression you two had become close friends.”

“We get along better than I expected, but I’ve been too nervous to talk about it with anybody. Do you… think there’s something wrong with me? Do you even believe me?”

“If I didn’t believe you, I would have sent you back to work, rather than take you to my private library to open an expensive bottle for you. Yes, there very likely is something wrong, but I doubt it is your fault.” Snape peered into Harry’s eyes, as if looking for something just behind them. “Do you mind if I take a look for myself? I promise I won’t pry any further than I must.”

Harry nodded slowly despite his nerves. “Do what you need to do.”

He simply needed to stay focused. As long as he didn’t think about Snape’s long hands wrapped around his glass, or the way his deep voice dripped like warm syrup down Harry’s spine, deep and slow, like it had been on that rooftop, with all of those stars and the weight of his body and—he swooned back against the couch, eyes still locked on Snape’s, his reflection shining against dark irises that faded seamlessly into pupils. Was Snape even in his mind? He had slipped in so silently, without the telltale panic of one mind invading another. He was—oh, there he was.

Severus—and it was Severus, it could hardly be any more formal than that when he was so completely blended into Harry’s mind—drew forth Harry’s memories with hands as skilled as a weaver. He plucked a few and shuffled them, as if flipping through a complete deck, examining each card one by one. He set aside some and frowned at more, occasionally glancing up as if looking directly at Harry, handing him significant moments to examine for himself. It was a deck full of tragedies and horror. His mother and father were dead, killed in front of him while he lay in his crib. Other-Harry grew up alone, less useful or interesting than a spare broom in the Dursley’s cupboard, and while he had eventually found a new family, he still experienced trauma after trauma, especially in the years leading up to his eventual death at the hands of Lord Voldemort. He had been little more than a child, alone and afraid, yet _so fucking brave_ , facing the end in the Forbidden Forest. Facing his lifelong monster. That man was far worse than the tooth-eye man could ever hope to be, and Other-Harry had faced him again and again. And at _such_ a young age.

And now, somehow, in some way, he was here. Half Harry, half Other-Harry.

The first emotion Harry felt was shame. How could his life seem so miserable and rotten? What was his present loneliness compared to a life full of nothing but pain? This Other-Harry had gone through so much worse and had come out still so full of love and compassion. That was the Harry he needed to be. He found a sort of determination, a sense of pride pushing through the pain. They were the same person, weren’t they? At their core, they had to be. If Other-Harry could do all of that, then he could handle anything. He could address this confusing situation with Severus, could face the fact he had just practically assaulted the poor man with all of those feelings the moment he had touched him. That tension hovered between them like lightning in a bottle, crackling and wild. Something could be done about Bill, too, about his deteriorating mind and deep spiraling path toward self-destruction. Maybe he could even do something about that toothy bastard.

The optimism faded with everything else as Severus reached the trains. They had stepped outside the boundary of Harry’s conscious mind, free from the jumbled visions of countless memories, into an empty place where the only thing keeping them separated from an endless white void was a hazy dome arching far over their heads. Harry could hear a train whistle in the distance, could feel the rumbling tracks vibrating through the empty white surface beneath his feet. Severus tightened his grip, making Harry realize they were holding hands.

They pulled out of his mind together, Harry gasping as he felt the soft fabric of the couch against his back once again. Severus was still holding his hand, still staring. “What can you tell me about those trains?”

Harry froze for a beat. “Um. Not much, honestly. Mind pouring me another drink?” But Severus was already up, already refilling his glass before Harry had finished speaking. He returned and handed Harry the drink and Harry gripped it in his lap for a moment. “So where were we? At the end there.”

Severus took a long sip from his drink before setting it aside on the table. He ran a hand through his hair, loosening it around his shoulders, then turned to wave on a record player in the corner. Warm crackling vinyl swam into honey-rich violins and piano. “Have you ever seen an aurora borealis?”

“No, never.”

“They’re very beautiful, I recommend taking a trip north to see one. Think of that white void as outer space, and your mind as the various layers of our atmosphere, that dome being the final distinction between our planet and space. Dreams are like an aurora borealis, carrying elements from outer space into your mind to create something new and beautiful, taking other elements from your mind and sending them away. Those trains are the sort of things one can find drifting through outer space, and it seems they traveled through your dreams to stay very close to your mind.”

Severus was so warm, and he smelled like the woods after a thunderstorm. It was distracting. But this was important. “Why trains? What does that mean?”

“I was hoping you could answer that, so I suppose that is what we need to get to the bottom of. I have a few ideas on how to do it, but it will involve taking a potion or two. One of them is rather... experimental.” Severus shifted, draping an arm over the back of the couch, turning so he faced Harry. Severus was watching him with what seemed like a controlled expression, but he was obviously eager to put his plan into action. It was apparent by the way he tapped his foot on the floor, how the faintest hint of a smile crept across his lips.

“Well, you know I’m fond of experiments.” Harry risked the reference to the night they met, watching for a response.

Severus nodded, reaching out to touch Harry’s jumper, watching him closely. Harry burned where fingers grazed over fabric, the heat rising up into his face as Severus rubbed a thumb over his collar. “And that is one of the many things I appreciate about you. It seems we are dealing with a particularly severe case of converging timelines, and I believe I have just the tools to further investigate. Unconventional as they may be.”

That gave Harry pause. “Converging timelines? What does that even mean?”

Fingers kept trailing along the soft knit of Harry’s jumper. “In the simplest of terms, picture a time when you had to make a decision. Any decision.” Severus tugged Harry’s collar down, revealing his t-shirt. “Take your shirt, for instance. You are living in the timeline where you chose that flattering black one, but there could also be another scenario where you chose something in a garish maroon and gold instead.”

“And risk offending my employer by reminding him that he hired a Gryffindor? Not a chance.” He struggled to wrap his mind around what Severus was saying. “But... does that mean something could happen to mix up those choices? And I’d walk around all day unsure what color shirt I’m wearing?”

“So it seems. Again, this is a very simple explanation, and it is only a theory. I am not by any means an expert on the subject, though I have studied such cases in the past. What sort of untapped magic could have caused all of this, and the meaning behind the train symbolism, is beyond me, for now. However, it would explain how you’ve come to possess so many conflicting memories, and why you are now experiencing difficulties discerning which truly belong to you.”

Harry didn’t really understand. He wished he hadn’t spit out his gum, if only to help him understand faster, but it would have been sacrilegious to chew it while drinking Severus’ scotch, anyway. “So what did you want to try?”

Severus’s knee brushed against Harry as he stood up and moved to a curio cabinet. He opened a delicate glass door and retrieved a large round bottle. It was perfectly clear, with a bright teal cloud hovering inside. Severus returned to the couch, still standing as he peered into the bottle, cradling it in his open palms. His face was magnified tenfold through the glass. “Do you recall the potion you had the other night, the one with the peacock on the label?”

Severus referencing that night was all Harry needed to feel flustered all over again. He shifted his back against the couch and took another sip from his glass, feeling antsy as Severus stood over him. “Yeah, that’s the one that let me see without my glasses.”

“Which was a remarkably inventive use for it. I’m pleased to know it was so effective. This is somewhat similar, but it is all internal rather than external. While the Peacock’s Tail allowed you to perceive radiant magic from the space around you, this will take you to the place where magic flows from within. It is similar to having an incredibly lucid dream. Do you recall that barrier we found at the edge of your mind? You’ll have full control, so we’ll be able to pass through and travel along those tracks to find their source.”

“You think there is one? A source?”

“All trains have to reach a station eventually, don’t they? Maybe we’ll even find a map.”

Harry thought over the concept. It felt… accurate. “I hope it’s that literal. How long will we have in there?”

“Time works differently in dreams, but this only lasts about an hour. We will take a second potion with this one to make the return to our bodies swift and easy, as is necessary when one intends to travel too far. That one will have to be… more physically oriented.” He ran his thumb over the round bottle, looking down at Harry.

“What do you mean?”

Severus sat down, a little further away this time. Harry was tempted to scoot closer, but he stayed in his place, focusing on the glass pressed between his hands as Severus placed the bottle on the table to retrieve his scotch. The little cloud bobbled inside the bottle. It was a cheerful thing, so bright and round it seemed cartoonish. Severus finished his drink, too fast to really appreciate the flavor. The glass thudded against the table as he set it down, and he leaned back, studying Harry’s face. “I have a theory about you.”

Harry did scoot closer then, like a sailor drawn toward a song heard across the open sea, crashing against Severus’ rocky shores. Their legs bumped together, and Harry kept his there. “What’s that?”

“You strike me as being remarkably responsive.” Severus traced his fingers along Harry’s knee, drawing little circles. “I imagine it would only take a suitable amount of physical pleasure to send you flying back into your body. No matter how far we venture or what we may encounter, the correct stimulation would bring you home.”

“You might be right.” Harry tilted his head to the side as he regarded Severus, tapping his nails against his glass. He had to ask. He had to make sure he wouldn’t be disappointed again. “Why have you been avoiding me all week? You know you’re throwing me some really mixed signals, right?”

“Well, for one, I wanted to ensure you learned your way around the dungeon without any unnecessary distractions.” Severus pressed his lips together and glanced away, but he smoothed his hand along Harry’s thigh. “And then something came up that kept me away the past few days. Oh, Circe, this is uncomfortable. The entire situation is, isn’t it?”

Harry shrugged, sipping at his drink until it was gone if only to have something else to do with his mouth instead of speaking. He didn’t see why the situation had to be uncomfortable. They had slept together and liked it, hadn’t they? Severus had seen Harry’s interest screaming through his mind, and he had to be interested in Harry as well, judging the way that hand kept curling into his thigh. But he felt saying as much would only make Severus more tense. So he busied his hands by fiddling with the empty glass, and finally, Severus spoke again.

“May I be direct with you?”

Harry had never wanted anything more in his life. He nodded and Severus’ hand moved to touch the back of his own. Well, maybe there were a few things he wanted just as much. He set aside his glass and took hold of Severus’ hand, interlacing their fingers and looking up at him. Challenging him. Showing Severus that he could be direct too.

Severus cleared his throat. “I have a tendency to become… fixated on things. Usually concepts. Very rarely people, but I’m finding myself rather fascinated by you. I had already thought the circumstances of our meeting were highly significant, and now you have unfolded yet another mystery. One that I simply can’t resist. But I am also afraid I am making you up in my mind as something you are not, because that is what I want to find. And it is simply not fair to put you in this position while you are also facing an identity crisis beyond anything I have ever seen. I am… deeply concerned by the ethical implications of our situation. Does that make sense?”

Harry nodded slowly, staring at their clasped hands, letting the liquor rushing through his bloodstream build his courage. He needed to say it. He needed to say _something_. “Well, I guess you’re being direct and I like that, but do you think you could speak more plainly?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re hiding everything behind so many words. You saw my mind. You saw who I am and what I feel. We even talked about this the other day when you decided to hire me, despite being attracted to me. You _told_ me you were into me. I might be having problems with my memories, but that conversation happened. I know it did. But then you treated me like a stranger once I started working for you. So which is it? Do you want me or not? Because I want you.”

There. He had said it and he regretted it immediately. It was too harsh, too pushy. He glanced up from their joined hands to see Severus looking as stunned as if Harry had slapped him. But then their eyes locked and Severus’ narrowed. Severus shifted his weight onto one hip to face Harry, then grabbed him, dragging him closer by the front of his jumper.

“Do you have any idea how difficult it was to remain professional, knowing that same filthy little creature I had writhing beneath me a few nights ago was roaming the halls of my business?” Severus hissed, his breath warm on Harry’s face. One hand held Harry firmly by his collar, the other slid down into the top of his trousers, hooking fingers around the back of his waistband to drag him onto Severus’ lap. “Can you fathom how tempting it was to call you into my office, to tell you to lock the door?” He jerked Harry’s head back with a fistful of hair, ignoring the responding gasp. “I was forced to hand you off to Rosier to ensure you began your training. You do recall promising that you would focus on your education, correct? Don’t tell me I have been denying what I want for your sake, only for you to waste all of this time with frivolous daydreaming.”

Harry was on his knees, straddling Severus’ lap, his head angled up toward the ceiling while he strained to look down. Severus’ actions were so aggressive, but his tone was playful. Taunting. He released his grip on Harry, letting him settle onto his lap, and Harry smiled, flashing teeth. “Words, words, words. Is that all you have?”

Harry could see the restraints snap. It was clear in the way Severus’ eyes tightened, how his mouth moved, lips twisting back into a sort of snarl. He pulled Harry in, the rough heels of his hands scraping against Harry’s cheeks as he dragged them together. Harry kissed him eagerly, winding his arms around Severus’ back to press tight against him, pulsing their hips together. He had been slightly hard since Severus had first sat down too close beside him, and now he was aching, finding perfect, delirious friction against Severus’ lap. A hand wrenched his head aside, baring his throat. Teeth scraped against his jaw, then warm lips, sucking and biting, dipping down to his throat to be replaced with a wet tongue. It dragged over his skin, followed by a sharp bite placed just under the corner of his jaw. Harry cried out, grinding against Severus’ lap, hands scrambling for purchase against his back.

Teeth. Biting, sharp pain. Teeth—like _those eyes_ , like those red wounds on pale freckled skin—Harry let out a pitiful sound and Severus stilled against him.

The hand released his hair. “Look at me, Harry.”

Harry’s vision was unfocused, his glasses askew. He tried to obey but his breath was shaky and unsteady.

“Are you alright? I thought you wanted this.”

“I do, I just—” He fought to get his breath back in order. “I guess I don’t want to be bit right now.”

Severus nodded and ran his hand down Harry’s back, slow and soothing. “Does this have anything to do with that man with the teeth in his eyes? I didn’t mean to pry, but he was close to the forefront of your mind.”

Harry could only nod and Severus made a thoughtful sound before leaning in to kiss him. It was slow and soft, gradually increasing in pressure. Harry clung to him, kneading his back as he melted into the sweetness. Severus tasted like scotch. It was strange kissing him without the mask, without the anonymity, but it was even better. Better to know that he was wanted.

They separated. Harry tried to duck back in to reclaim his lips again, but Severus pressed a firm hand against his chest. “We really should get to work.”

Harry sighed and pressed his brow against Severus’ chest. “Aren’t you going to ask about that monster? That could be related to all of this, right?”

“It’s possible.” Severus hesitated, as if considering the question. “And regardless, I can help you take care of that, if you’d like. But for now I think it would be best if we focus on one issue at a time.”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and he smiled, pressing against him. Severus knew how to help. Of course he did—he was some sort of expert magician after all. Harry clung to him, grinding against him a little. They were both so hard, only a few thin pieces of fabric between them. “I suppose you’re right. One thing at a time.”

A deep noise rumbled through Severus’ chest as he gripped Harry’s hips. “Now, now, Harry, we have a great deal of work to do. We shouldn’t let ourselves get too distracted.”

“Bit late for that, isn’t it?” Harry’s voice was breathy, little more than a moan. It was impossible to focus on anything but the feeling of that cock pressed against his own. Precome leaked through his trousers and the thought of it smearing against Severus was maddening. Surely if he rubbed against him just right he could convince him to keep going.

Severus moaned and let his head fall back, resting his hands on Harry’s hips as they ground against each other. After a moment, he sat up and pushed Harry back. “Control yourself. I’ll make it worth your while later.”

“But I—” Harry cut off his whine when Severus shot him a withering look. “When?”

He cupped Harry’s face in his hands and kissed him briefly before easing him off his lap. “Business first, then pleasure.”

Severus stood despite Harry’s protesting sounds, and picked up the round bottle. He tapped it once with his nail. The cheerful little cloud shuddered and collapsed upon itself, raining down a crisp blue liquid that splashed against the rounded glass before stilling. Harry watched, feeling uncomfortably warm. He pulled off his sweater and tossed it over the back of the couch, leaving him with a simple black shirt, trousers, and a nearly painful erection. Squeezing his cock between his thighs helped relieve some of the pressure.

“Hold this. Keep it warm with your hands while I find the second potion,” Severus said, handing the bottle to Harry. His eyes lingered on Harry’s lap, on how his thighs were rubbing together. “And try to not thrash about.”

Severus returned to the curio cabinet, retrieving two delicate cups with one hand, another bottle dangling between the fingers of the other. This bottle was smaller and filled with bright red liquid. Harry eyed it apprehensively. “What is it?”

“I’ve named it Cernunnos’ Wild Hunt. It sets in slowly, so if we take the two together, we will have plenty of time for the first potion to take us where we need to go before this one reaches its peak effects and Cernunnos pulls us out.” He sat down, retrieving the bottle from Harry and lining everything neatly on the table.

Harry leaned against him. “What do you mean by it pulling us out? You don’t mean that literally, do you?”

“The deity Cernunnos would be far more accurately described as ‘he’ rather than ‘it’, considering the nature of his domain. Surely you are familiar with the Celtic pantheon?” Severus’ tone was dry, almost condescending.

Harry sat back, frowning. “Well, sure, but is it literally _him_?” He had never been under the impression that any of the deities he had studied back at Hogwarts were actually real in any way. He had always preferred the school of thought that they were more like aspects of the human mind than anything remotely tangible. The thought of a man with stag horns grabbing him and actually hauling him out of a dream was rather unsettling, but he couldn’t deny that he was intrigued.

Severus opened the larger bottle and set aside the glass stopper. “You’ll have to decide that for yourself. I had to pull a lot of strings to find the materials necessary to brew this potion, so I’m glad to have a reason to use it. It will temporarily force us into a shared vision of the Wild Hunt, an intermediary space where we will meet with Cernunnos before being pushed back into our bodies. I anticipate that no matter where those train tracks take us, if anything can return us to where we need to be, it’s this.”

“That sounds… well, what should we expect to find there?”

“From what I understand, it is essentially an orgy gathered around a rather impressive bonfire. I have not seen it for myself before, but I have always been curious. I hope that won’t be an issue for you?”

“Oh.” Harry’s cock twitched at the thought, not at all forgotten where it had been softening between his legs. “No, that’s— that’s fine. And while we’re there, could we…”

“Finish what we started? Oh, yes. In fact, it’s rather helpful to leave you so perfectly desperate for now.” Severus leaned in close, kissing Harry slowly, lazily, like he had bitten into a ripe piece of fruit that he wanted to savor. Harry melted against him, whimpering softly when Severus pressed a hand against his chest and pushed him away. “No, Harry. We wouldn’t want the potion to go to waste, would we?”

Harry didn’t understand what he meant by that, but he watched breathlessly as Severus sat forward to pour the teal potion into two glasses. Setting those aside, he picked up the other bottle, holding it up to the light. Bright red liquid shifted inside, as hot and vivid as blood. “Are you ready to begin?”

“Hold on.” Harry slid onto Severus’ lap, sitting so they both faced the table. Severus laughed softly and wrapped an arm around Harry’s waist, letting him settle in. Harry could feel Severus’ heartbeat, both against his back and throbbing against his arse. He shifted his hips, delighting in the responding hum deep within Severus’ chest. “Ready.”

Warm breath tickled the side of Harry’s face as Severus spoke. “We will inhale the aroma rather than drink it, to delay the effects.” He opened the bottle and placed his finger over the opening, flipped it upside-down for a moment, then set it aside and held his finger under Harry’s nose. A heady fragrance blossomed, smelling like cinnamon and bloody earth, twisting through Harry’s sinuses. “Inhale deeply, let your lungs fill from the bottom to the top.”

Harry did so, his senses instantly spinning under the assaulting fragrance. It was like inhaling a handful of pepper, but it made his face too numb to sneeze, as much as he desperately wanted to, his muscles twisting and seizing around the prickling spice. A glass full of shimmering teal was placed in his hand. Some dribbled down his chin as he drank, mint and lemon overpowering a subtle bitterness, immediately soothing away the stinging pain. Everything else soothed as well and he eased back against Severus, who took the cup and set it aside.

“I’m looking forward to this. I have a suspicion that these two will interact in an interesting way.” Severus’ voice was little more than a deep buzz, growing fainter as Harry’s mind slowly faded away.

“Huh? Why’s that?” Harry barely managed to mumble the words, sinking deeper and deeper into his body. He melted against Severus and through him, down into the couch, and then he was a puddle on the floor, too far gone to hear a response.


	12. Crossed Kings

Harry’s eyes were heavy, his whole body loose and weightless. He knew, at least partly, that he was propped up against Severus’ chest, but he was also far away, his awareness trickling into Someplace Else. He melted through a series of dim clouds, each additional layer one shade lighter, leaving his body behind.

A peculiar brightness pressed against his shut eyes. He opened them and was greeted by bright empty white. The only interruption in the wide white expanse was Severus, who was standing over him and staring off into the distance. He was unnaturally tall and dark, like a long smear of ink across a bright white sheet of paper, and a hooded cloak made of countless shiny black feathers rustled as he turned to look down at Harry. The cloak reminded Harry of the night they first met, but the bird-like mask was gone. It had been replaced by a deep hood that occluded his face in shadows, save for a faint golden gleam tracing the edges of his facial features. Harry wondered if he looked different too. He felt like a pair of hovering eyes, and when he looked down, he couldn’t find his feet or his hands or any evidence of a physical body.

There was a huge cluster of spinning light beside them. Harry moved closer, trying to make sense of what he was staring at. He wasn’t sure if he could speak in this place, but he tried. “That’s my mind, right?”

“Yes,” Severus replied. “I suppose you scarcely looked at it from the outside following my initial examination. Judging by the way it has chosen to represent itself, it is incredibly disorganized. But I suppose that was to be expected.”

Disorganized was an understatement. It moved so quickly, too fast and chaotic to make sense of anything. “It’s like two armies of wasps fighting for control over one hive.”

“That may not be too far from the truth. But we’re wasting time.” Severus took Harry by the… shoulder? He took hold of Harry somehow, despite the lack of apparent body, and turned him around, facing the vast white space.

The barrier stood before them. It was an impenetrable dome arching far over their heads, trapping them inside like bugs in a jar, just them and the swirling hive, only visible against the all-white space where it reflected the flickering color and light shooting off of the spinning hive behind them. Severus stepped forward and placed his hand against it. “Do as I do, Harry. Command it to let us through.”

Harry tried, but the thought of _commanding_ anything in such a strange place seemed beyond his abilities. He pressed his hand against the glassy wall and pictured what the empty expanse would look like without the barrier in the way. It immediately wobbled, and Severus pulled Harry through as it blinked out of sight. The barrier solidified behind them the moment they crossed the threshold, leaving nowhere to go but farther into the endless expanse of white.

A train whistle sounded in the distance, and Harry shivered in response. “Looks like we have a bit of a walk ahead of us.”

“Nonsense. This is little more than a dream, we can do whatever we’d like here. Try calling the train.” Severus’ voice rumbled around them like distant thunder, even lower than usual, echoing oddly in the empty space.

“Call it? What, like a dog? Here, train, come along—” Train tracks appeared beneath their feet and he looked at Severus in triumph before it buckled under them. It felt as if a giant hand pushed them forward, gravity rushing in to shove them down along the sudden plummeting path.

They fell and fell, caught along the spiraling tracks, angling straight down. The vertigo lessened briefly when Harry realized there wasn’t a defined “up” or “down” in this space, that they very well could have been traveling straight forward, but then his stomach flung up into his throat at that nonsensical thought. They shot through the white expanse, so still and void they could have been motionless if not for the track racing beneath them. He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing they could just hurry up and get there already—wherever that was.

And then it stopped. They were suddenly standing on solid ground, as steady as if they had been there for quite some time. Harry felt faint and likely would have fallen forward, but he seemed to still be little more than a hovering pair of eyes. Severus stood beside him, still pitch-black and shining with molten gold, taking in the train station around them. It looked remarkably similar to King’s Cross. The place was washed out and devoid of color, all a hazy, ghostly gray. A large silver sign posted on a pillar described a list of routes. Severus swept toward it, craning his neck to read the tiny script.

“The Hedge... Interesting.” His voice echoed oddly off non-euclidean acoustics.

“I wonder what that means.” Harry said, wondering how Severus could even read the words. The script was tiny and constantly shifting, like rippling water.

Harry looked away, slowly turning to take in their surroundings, but everything faded off into an eerie white fog. “What is this place?”

“I’d guess that it’s a point where multiple timelines converge,” Severus replied, still looking up at the sign.

“But why?”

“That’s what I would like to find out. Look, the sign is changing.”

The tiny lettering grew, shifting into a single line of numbers. Strange glyphs appeared beneath it, fading into English to inform them that “The Orchard” was arriving in three minutes. Harry looked to Severus. “Do you think we should try to get on? Is it safe?”

“I doubt anything about this place is safe.” Severus’ eyes were barely visible beneath the shadows covering his face. The feathers on his cloak rustled as he folded his arms. “But Cernunnos will take us back when our time is up, no matter where we are.”

Harry willed himself into a physical shape, weaving his body together with the desire to touch Severus, if only to have something to press against in the empty, silent place. He leaned back against Severus’ unnaturally tall form, smiling as firm arms encircled him. It occurred to him that something interesting might be hiding further down the gray and hazy halls leading off in either direction along the platform, but he didn’t want to leave Severus’ warm embrace. Not when it was so cold out there, so cold and empty and unsettling. Every time he looked anywhere but dead ahead, delicate whispers broke into the edges of his thoughts. They crushed around him, taunting, flickering away at the first brush of focused attention.

“I think there’s something out there. Watching us.” Harry could barely speak above a whisper.

Severus tightened one arm around Harry’s waist, the other moving up to rub his hand over Harry’s scalp. Harry relaxed as long fingers combed through his hair, the low and steady cadence of Severus’ voice wrapping around him. “Focus on me, Harry. Focus on the feeling of us, right here, right now. We’re in a very dangerous place, but nothing will dare harm you as long as you stay close to me.”

Harry had the feeling that Severus meant he needed to stay close mentally as well as physically, that if he let his thoughts follow after any of those whispers, he would be swept far, far away. He rolled his head side-to-side against Severus’ chest, focusing on the warmth radiating from his body. “Okay. I’m here. I’m right here.”

“In time, I will teach you how to properly defend yourself in places like this,” Severus’ lips brushed over Harry’s ear as he spoke, sending shivers raining down his spine, “but for now, keep in mind that I am more than capable of handling anything that may seek to harm you.”

Another kind of shiver worked its way through Harry at that. He wrapped his fingers around the arm pressed against him and squeezed. “Thank you.”

Suddenly, the track was occupied. A long steam locomotor sat waiting, as if it had been there for hours. It was a glaring smear of color in the hazy place, candy apple red, trimmed in yellows and blues.

“Should we go in? It looks harmless enough.” Harry kept his eyes locked on the open door leading into the train car, ignoring the pressure of what felt like a dozen different sets of eyes watching him, waiting for him to come closer.

“I think we should. I suppose that’s why we came here,” Severus replied, but he seemed hesitant. His hand trailed down Harry’s back as they approached the open door.

A single bright yellow step helped Harry up into the train. It was warm inside and smelled like fresh pine, with smooth wood floors and bright red walls. There were bench seats instead of compartments, and a single man stood against the wall.

Harry gasped when he spotted the man. “Oh, I know you!”

The man turned toward Harry and nodded, smiling pleasantly. He was tall, with an animated face, sporting a thick black mustache and a smart-looking hat. Harry knew without a doubt that this was the same man who had welcomed him onto the last train, the one that had brought him to his mother’s kitchen. He was also the bartender from the Leaky Cauldron, the one who had emanated an odd portkey-like sensation before blinking out of Harry’s memory the moment he stepped into the pub’s backroom.

“Indeed you do, Mr. Potter. And I see you’ve brought a friend.” The man’s voice was deep and welcoming, with all of the warmth of an old friend. He looked over Harry’s shoulder to Severus, quirking an eyebrow and smiling broadly.

“Yeah, this is Se—” Harry stopped when he noticed Severus’ tense posture. His body had flashed bright gold for half a second, looking like a warning, almost as if he was readying his magic to attack. “What’s wrong?”

The man chuckled, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his bright red pants. They matched the rest of the train and his jacket, which was decorated with shiny gold buttons and black trim. “Don’t mind him, Harry, he simply has enough sense to be wary of unfamiliar beings in the Middle.”

“Accurate.” Severus’ response was clipped, his hand wrapping tight around Harry’s arm.

“By all means, gentlemen, don’t let my presence hinder your exploration. Only, please be warned, if you step through that door once you have arrived at your destination, you will find yourselves sharing the same mind in unfamiliar territory, with no easy means of escape. Any preparations you may have made to return to your bodies could be interrupted.” He paused, leveling his gaze seriously at Severus. There was a moment of tension when they locked eyes, but then the man broke into another wide grin. “Take care to consider this before doing anything foolhardy.”

Harry wasn’t entirely sure what unspoken communication had passed between the two men. He glanced back at Severus curiously before looking back to the man. “Can we just take a look without stepping through?”

“The only advice I can give you at this time is to listen to your instincts.” He winked at Harry, then tipped his hat. “Good luck, gentlemen. Safe travels.” He vanished as the train jerked into motion.

That was… unexpected. Harry stared at the spot where the man had just been standing, wondering exactly why he had seemed so familiar. “So, where are we? What’s the Middle?” he asked, following Severus to one of the bench seats. The train station rushed by through the windows, little more than a hazy blur.

Severus sat down, mashing his shiny black feathers against the bare wood bench. He pulled back his hood and the shadows concealing his face trickled away, dripping down into his collar as if made of liquid. “The Middle is a place between life and death. A crossroads made of thought and memory. Anything can pass through here, which makes trusting any spirits found within… highly inadvisable.” Severus paused for a moment, thinking something over. “I had suspected that’s where we were, and your acquaintance verified it. Who exactly was that?”

“That’s the Porter. He guided me to the train that brought me to our world. To— well, he guided Other-Harry to ours, I mean. Or, whoever and whichever I am…” Harry trailed off, feeling hopelessly confused. “I didn’t remember _any_ of that until just now. Not even his name. I _still_ barely remember.”

“I see.” Severus clasped Harry’s hand. “I would say the two of you are technically the same. Yes, you have lived different lives, but you share the same soul. It’s useless, likely even harmful, to dwell on distinctions until we know more.”

Did that mean everybody was the same person across every instance within the multiverse? He wanted to ask, but a different word snagged at his attention. “Harmful?”

“Yes. We don’t have time for any existential hang ups if we want to understand what happened.” Severus nodded decisively, as if the matter was settled.

“Okay… I suppose that makes sense.” Harry didn’t know what to make of that, but as he spoke, the train came to a smooth halt. The door opened, carrying a warm breeze perfumed with the light scent of springtime and apples, though the windows still showed nothing but cold and empty haze. Severus followed Harry to the door. Careful to stay within the confines of the train car, they peered outside.

It was beautiful. Peaceful. Rows upon rows of apple trees stretched through a valley, framed on both sides by mountains. Everything was a deep shade of green that marked the long days of summer. The sun was shining and birdsong filled the air.

“Oh. This doesn’t look so bad.” Harry glanced up at Severus, but he still seemed tense.

The view shifted, jostling as if seen through the eyes of a running person. Vertigo rushed through Harry and he swayed, but Severus’ arms wrapped around his waist to hold him steady. They stumbled back as the screaming began. Harry wondered if they were staring through Yet-Another-Other-Harry’s eyes. If so, it seemed as if he was fully sprinting. The apple grove wasn’t nearly so beautiful upon closer examination. Massive hornets crawled over rotting fruit, making clicking, flittering noises and buzzing—so much buzzing. Their view glanced down at a pair of muddy shoes, and then behind. Harry gasped as Severus wrenched him away from the door, but not before he saw all of the bodies, all of the blood, and heard his own voice breaking down into manic laughter.

“I think it’s time to leave,” Severus muttered into his ear, and Harry could only nod, fighting to tear his eyes away from the door. “Close your eyes, Harry. Focus on your body, focus on what’s happening to your body.”

Harry tried, he really did, but he could still hear that wretched Other-Harry laughing, and couldn’t tell if he was the cause of that carnage or if he was simply breaking down in response to it. He couldn’t think about bodies. Not now, not like this. His thoughts turned to Bill, to his parents dead on his nursery floor, to Sirius and Dobby, to Severus bleeding out on a dirty floor, those sharp eyes slowly dimming—

Harry cried out, thrashing wildly. Other-Severus had _died_. He had died defending Harry, right until the end, right before Harry had died, too. Harry had held him as he slowly slipped away, soaking him in his blood, their eyes locked until Severus took his last breath, but now _this_ Severus was holding Harry, hauling him away, _pushing_ him somewhere else.

The physical reclaimed Harry and he was inside a body once more. Darkness around them carried an earthy scent, like cedar and rain and tar. They were racing through the woods, feet rushing through the underbrush, hurrying, dragging something heavy behind. They burst through the wilds into a circular clearing, one surrounded by towering rose bushes stretching far overhead. A massive bonfire roared in the center of the clearing. The circle was crowded, filled with a teeming mass of people dancing around the flames along to a steady, percussive music. The fire cast sharp shadows, silhouetting the bodies of the dancers against the blaze, making them look alien and wrong. Voices and howls and strange screeches filled the air. Harry looked around for Severus and couldn’t see him, not in the madness filling the circle. Was this the Wild Hunt? The air felt charged, as if it were moments before a thunderstorm, but the sky was clear and full of stars.

An immense creature turned toward Harry, a giant of a man with a stag head and long, twisting antlers that were peeling bloody velvet. He was dripping with moss and covered in fur, his head encircled with small black birds. He strode toward Harry, nude and fully erect, shoving aside any shadowy figures that stood in his way. Harry moved suddenly, Severus’ slender hands reaching forward. They reached out with one hand to meet with Cernunnos’ and the deity pulled Severus close, lifting him off the ground to kiss him.

Harry was stuck inside Severus’ body somehow. He could feel Severus’ cock stiffen and he groaned into the sensation, spinning through a strange mind as a hot tongue plunged into their shared mouth. Confusion scattered, sweeping away into wild, mindless desire. Severus was moving, rutting against something soft and hot, something that engulfed him fully before dropping him back to the ground.

Severus landed, knees bending to absorb the impact, and Harry looked through his eyes as he turned to watch Cernunnos approach Harry’s empty body. He was just _standing_ there, swaying slightly after a satyr had careened into him. Cernunnos placed one hand on his hips and the other on his shoulders, his grip almost large enough to encompass Harry’s slender body. Cernunnos lifted him up, Harry curving limply against him as they kissed.

Feeling Severus watch Harry’s body with a combination of concern and mind-shattering arousal was dizzying. Harry felt like a tiny ship lost at sea, thrown about on the tremendous waves of Severus’ emotions. Severus started forward when Cernunnos set Harry’s body down, catching him before he could collapse to the ground. Cernunnos stalked back into the mob as Severus scooped Harry’s body up in his arms and carried him to the far edge of the circle. Harry’s thoughts bubbled up from the ocean of Severus’ mind with the contact, frothed against Severus’ skin as he yearned toward the empty shell.

Severus seemed to notice him. “Harry?”

“ _Hello? Can you hear me? I’m stuck in your head. How do I get back into mine?_ ” Harry fought to focus his thoughts into words.

Severus’ arousal was nearly suffocating, tethered to frantic worry for Harry’s empty body. Harry was losing himself within it, swept up in fear for the delicate young man with the fiery green eyes and that _perfect fucking mouth_. How the creatures around that bonfire could tear him to pieces if given half a chance. How Severus wasn’t much less of a threat than they were. His blood was boiling with desire and the need to take action.

“We’ll need to cut our visit short, but the only way out is through the bonfire. We’ll have to push through the crowd,” Severus said.

That couldn’t have been right. “ _Through the bonfire?_ ”

“Just stay calm, I’ll take care of it.” Severus hefted Harry up, one arm under his legs and the other propping up his back, and turned them around to face the crowd.

It was beginning to look more like an orgy than a simple gathering. Cernunnos towered above the crowd full of shining skin and luminescent eyes, all either dancing or fucking on the bare ground. Some seemed to be humans in masks, others looked like animals or aliens, creatures unlike anything Harry had ever seen. They all had too many limbs, or not enough. In the center, the bonfire stretched far into the night sky, sputtering embers that lifted up toward the stars.

Gripping onto Harry’s body with all of his strength, Severus pushed through the crowd toward the inferno. So many clawed fingers scratched down their bodies, tugging at them, urging them with hisses and growls to stay, to merge into the hoard, but Severus held on tight and forced his way through to the impossibly hot flame. Harry screamed for Severus to stop, to back up before it burned them to ash, but Severus burst through the crowd and flung them into the fire. They ignited, speeding along the updraft into the starry sky.

Smoke-filled lungs coughed, seized, twisted on the fresh air in Severus’ library. They were back on the couch, but Harry was still staring through different eyes, looking down on his empty body slumped against their shared lap.

“Harry? Are you still with me?” A pulse of fear shook through Severus.

“ _Yeah. This is weird. I can see through your eyes and I look… kind of dead._ ”

Relief and apprehension. It was so strange for Harry to feel and yet not directly identify with the emotions. “Not dead, just lacking your spirit. Don’t worry, we can put you back. That is… sexual intimacy would be the most effective method. Is that alright?”

“ _Of course it’s alright, don’t be stupid._ ” Impatience and fear. Those were his own emotions. But if Severus was going to keep him waiting because of his own apprehension, well then, Harry had a right to be snappish. “ _Just get me out of here, it’s too crowded._ ”

Irritation at being told what to do gave way to the scorching heat of Severus’ arousal, which was just as pressing as it had been at the Wild Hunt. His voice dropped, rolled over Harry’s body, hummed into him with a faint sensation that Harry could feel like a distant echo. “Then I do hope you enjoy the show.”

Severus pulled off Harry’s clothes, the body moving limply in response to his repositioning. Harry felt it like a dull throb. Seeing himself slump about on the couch like a ragdoll was less off-putting than he would have expected. He was almost… pretty. From his own perspective he had always just looked like himself. Just some average, unfortunately small man. But from Severus’ point of view, he was a delicate and precious thing. Cheeks and lips flushed, bright eyes barely visible under long lashes. Long, graceful limbs attached to a slender but muscular body, with a perfect arse— Harry burned with embarrassment at Severus’ thoughts, which melted and dribbled through his own as if welcoming him in. Harry wanted to hide from the marveling, the awe, but he was trapped.

It seemed Severus pictured him as some sort of supernatural creature, transcending the limitations of his extensive magical knowledge. Timeline skipping wasn’t entirely unheard of, but seeing a traveler here in the flesh, so open and _beautiful_ and surrounded by an overwhelming sense of mystery was more than he could bear. He wanted to peel him open like a fruit, to scoop out the seeds with greedy fingers and plant them in fertile soil. He wanted to test the limitations of Harry’s circumstance and the thought filled him with a rush of desire so heady he was nearly crippled by it.

Severus trailed his hand down Harry’s face, dragging his thumb across parted lips and something divine twisted inside him when the mouth opened, letting him push inside. Seeing the way that Harry’s inclination toward submission was so inherent it was wired to his very body was enough to make Severus’ toes curl. His thumb dragged against teeth, pushed past those too, slipped against a soft, wet tongue. He hummed thoughtfully and pulled back his hand, standing up to reposition Harry flat on his back across the couch. “Are you still with me?”

Harry was nearly suffocating beneath the desire building within Severus. “ _I’m here. Do something else, something stronger._ ”

“Oh, I intend to.” His voice rolled lazily over each syllable.

Harry was intensely aware that he felt Severus’ body as if it were his own. Clothing slipped off shoulders and fell to the ground, bare knees pressed to the soft rug, a swollen cock dragging against the couch. Harry wanted to _see_ it, strained to look down, but Severus had his eyes locked on Harry’s nude body stretched out on the couch. He was kneeling on the ground, twisted slightly to pin his arms on either side of Harry’s hips. A hand slid over Harry’s leg, making it twitch, and Harry’s senses crackled when nails dragged against flesh to leave little red lines.

“ _Again. Harder._ ”

Severus ignored him, disdained the order, gliding his hand up to tease around the base of Harry’s cock. He wrapped his fingers around it, encircled it so Harry’s balls pulled up with the rest, holding everything in place while he moistened his lips and dragged his tongue heavy and wet up the full length. Harry almost fell out Severus’ body, his mind shuddering violently, his own body twitching again in response. The tongue dragged up his cock one more time, then lips covered the head and slid down, mouth sucking in a persistent rhythm. The tension wrapped around him loosened, letting in a rush of blood, then tightened again, and Severus pressed his free hand up against Harry’s chest to keep his spasming body from flailing off the couch.

The tight grip caused a glimmer of discomfort that was almost as alluring as the pleasure. Both sensations blended together into a delirious frenzy, seeping through the connection between Harry’s mind and his body. Every time his empty body twitched, it revealed how naturally responsive he was, and that knowledge rocked through Severus with gratification so intense it made his eyes roll back in his head. His hand released Harry’s cock and slid up to drag over a hard nipple while his mouth continued sucking, tongue rolling as fingers pinched down, pulled, plucking Harry forward and out, coaxing him toward the sublime pain. Every motion tied a thicker knot, helping Harry coalesce back along the connection leading to himself. He drifted out, an autumn leaf clinging to a bare branch, trembling on a steady wind.

And then Severus did _something_ with his mouth and his hands, some obscene gesture that flung Harry full-bodied back home, slamming into his own nervous system, bucking wildly. He came hard as his voice scraped through his throat, limbs thrashing, but Severus had him pinned in place. Harry floated for a while, drunk and buoyant in his own skin.

“I’m back.” Harry laughed a little and sat up, breathing hard as he watched Severus stand from where he knelt on the floor.

“I can see that.” Severus was fully undressed, looking down at Harry with his impossibly dark eyes. Harry drank in every detail of his naked chest, which was narrow but strong and tapered down into a thin waist, framed by firm, slender arms. A massive tattooed snake wrapped around his torso, its head coming up to cap his left shoulder, fangs sinking into the end of its tail.

“Is that new?” Harry asked, his eyes locked on the snake as it turned to look at him before slithering over the top of Severus’ shoulder to hide on his back. “Didn’t notice that the other…” his attention drifted down and he forgot what he was saying, distracted by the way Severus’ hands were gripping his cock.

Severus glanced down at his bare chest and smiled, but his eyes and his tone were heavy. “I suppose it’s not accustomed to strangers.”

Harry made some noise in acknowledgement as he sat up, kneeling on the couch. He reached for Severus’ hips and pulled him closer, taking his cock in both of his hands. It was thick, pulsing under his grip, hot and smooth, but so firm. He trailed his fingers up the length, swiping a drop of precome with his thumb, then sucked it off, smiling at the burning eyes staring down at him. He opened his mouth wide and took in as much as his unpracticed jaw would allow. A deep noise rumbled through Severus as he wrapped his hands around the back of Harry’s head.

“Listen to me, Harry. I need you to tell me if I’m too rough on you. Say something and we’ll stop. This potion is meant to release our inhibitions, and we’ll—” Harry rolled his tongue against the underside of Severus’ head, earning him a satisfying moan. Severus grabbed him by the back of the throat and shoved deep into his mouth, only pushing in harder as Harry gagged. He thrust a few times, then pulled away, keeping a tight grip on Harry’s neck. “It isn’t too late to back out.”

The fingers squeezing Harry’s neck bit in as Harry grinned, eyes burning with a flash of tears. “Shut up and fuck me already.”

Severus’ cock pushed back into his mouth, the grip on his throat doing most of the movement for him. Harry dug his nails into Severus’ hips, his mind twisting into a memory of the bonfire, of Cernunnos towering over him. He felt primal, alive. Heat and sweat and rushing blood filled him, making his head spin as Severus kept fucking his mouth.

“Get on your back.” The voice dragged over him and he obeyed, lifting his knees out of the way as Severus leaned over him. Harry was already hard again, and their cocks pushed against each other as a hand cupped around his mouth. “Spit.”

Working his tongue to gather enough, Harry spit into the palm, which moved down to wrap around both of their cocks. He whined at the sensation and licked his palm to join him, his other hand gripping the arm propping Severus up. They thrust together, Severus leaning in, running his tongue along Harry’s lower lip, pushing it inside as Harry’s mouth opened. Harry sucked on his tongue as Severus moaned into his mouth, both thrusting faster, shaking the couch so hard it thudded against the floor. Severus pulled his head back with a gasp, hot come jetting across Harry’s stomach. He stilled for just a moment, gold-edged eyes staring down at Harry, then he sat back and dragged the come down with his fingers, using it to keep stroking Harry.

Harry looked down, shuddering at the sight of come dripping between Severus’ fingers, sliding over him with a firm and steady pressure, and then he was coming too, gripping desperately at the couch and arching his back. Severus summoned a palm full of some liquid-like substance and smeared it over Harry’s arse.

Harry let out a strangled cry, his body twitching and overstimulated. The fingers stilled, making the slightest pressure against his opening, and Harry’s cock jerked back to life, fueled by the heat of Cernunnos’ potion and the sight of Severus already heavy and straining. “Go on, do it. I want it.”

Severus curled over him, dragging his tongue up his throat before purring into his ear, “Patience.”

Harry whined and ground his hips, pushing against the fingers. Severus sat back and made a flicking motion with his free hand, and Harry felt all of his muscles unknot and slicken. He let out a strangled noise as Severus prodded against him, a finger pushing inside with slow ease. Harry was so hard again, so achingly hard, and the finger curved against a place that made his eyes cross, flinging him toward another orgasm, but Severus tisked and pulled back. He replaced the finger with two. They moved achingly slow, then sped up, keeping Harry perpetually on a delirious edge, his cock throbbing and weeping onto his stomach.

“Sev—please, can you—please I want to feel it, come on, give it—” A hand pressed against his mouth, forcing him to swallow his pleads. He tried to twist to the side, tried to keep begging and the hand pushed down harder, shoving his face down against the couch cushion.

The fingers slid into him so easily, twisting and scissoring, making his head burn and his cock ache, but when he reached to touch himself, the hand lifted off his face and pinned his wrists overhead against the armrest. He was drawn out long, utterly exposed as Severus stretched his hole. Legs pressed down on top of his thighs, completely pinning him under the weight.

Then Severus shifted, pulling out his wet fingers and tracing over the loose entrance before taking his own cock in his hand. Harry stared up helplessly as Severus moved forward, dragging his leaking cock over Harry’s mouth. Harry parted his lips. The angle didn’t let him take it very deep, but he drooled over it, reveling in how Severus’ eyes fluttered as he circled his tongue. The hand let go of his wrists to better grip the back of his head, and a knee went up onto Harry’s shoulder, the other leg planting on the ground for better leverage. His cock slid further into Harry’s mouth and Harry tried to respond by sucking or moving his tongue, but Severus had him tight by the back of his throat again, moving his head for him. So Harry focused on breathing, on keeping his teeth out of the way while his own cock slapped against his stomach with each thrust.

It was all animal motion and frenzy, panting breath and harsh noises. Harry gripped onto the couch as he arched his back up, trying to grind himself against _something_. Severus fucked into his mouth with a few final hard strokes, then pulled himself out and slid down his chest, jerking Harry up into a searing kiss. They parted, a thread of saliva connecting their lips. It broke when Severus practically growled, his eyes reflecting the light in a way that made Harry’s heart shoot into his throat. “Tell me what you want, Harry.”

The dam broke, helpless begging spilling out. “Please Sev, fuck me, please, I’ll do _anything_ —” Harry’s words cut off into a gasp as Severus dropped his head and grabbed one of his calves, pushing it off of the couch. Harry’s legs fell wide open, toes curling into the plush rug as Severus moved between his thighs.

“Anything?” There was a hint of laughter on Severus’ panting breath. He rested his weight on a hand wedged between Harry’s arm and his ribs, and dragged his cock over Harry’s opening.

“Yes, _god_ , yes.” Harry tilted his head back, squeezing his eyes shut, focused on the sensation pushing against him.

Severus’ cock slid inside with only the slightest resistance. Harry squirmed, crying out as it slowly filled him, stretching him wide open. He gripped the couch with one hand, the other reaching down to stroke himself, but it was all so overwhelming, especially when fingers pushed into his panting mouth. He gripped onto his cock and focused on sucking, drool running down his chin. Severus pushed further into him as he adjusted his position and Harry choked against the fingers, writhing, squeezing a fist around himself. The fingers pulled out of his mouth, dragging against his lip before trailing down, wrapping around his throat just under his chin and squeezing.

“Oh— oh, _please_ , Sev— I’m going to— oh—” Harry’s gasps forced past the hand pressed around his throat, blood swelling into his head as Severus rutted into him, and he exploded, arching and flailing under Severus’ body, pinned down by the hand and the constant thrusting hips.

The hand released Harry’s throat as he pulsed hot come across his chest, and then those fingers returned, pushing the mess into his mouth. Lips skimmed over his ear, purring words in velvet tones but he was too gone to hear them, too lost in the steady thrusting rhythm knocking his head against the armrest. He sucked at Severus' fingers obediently, mindlessly, and Severus groaned, dipping down to lick come off Harry’s chest and face. He shuddered against Harry with a long moan, thrusting a few more times before pulling out and dropping his full weight on top of him.

Harry thought he might get hard again, but he couldn’t tell while Severus was draped over him. He tried to say something, but only a weak noise pushed out of his lungs. After a moment, he resorted to trailing his fingers along Severus’ back.

Severus twitched and pulled away. “No tickling.”

“Oh—I didn’t mean to.” Harry grimaced apologetically as Severus stood up, looking down at him with a strange, questioning expression. Harry scooted back and tucked his knees under his chin. Yeah, he was hard again.

Severus sat down next to him. He waved for the scotch, the one they had barely made a dent in before. It floated from the bar onto the coffee table, landing beside the Cernunnos bottle. “How are you feeling?”

“Well, your come is currently running out of me, so I can’t really complain. Making a mess on your couch, though.”

That got a laugh out of Severus. He glanced at Harry before pouring them both a fresh drink. “I hope I didn't hurt you.”

"I don’t think you did. And, anyway, I liked it.” Harry took his glass and held it in both hands, sipping slowly. He was trembling. "A lot."

“And which part did you like best?”

The way those words dragged over him made his cock twitch. He squeezed his legs against it. “Um, all of it?”

Severus sat back, crossing one leg over the other, and Harry tracked the motion. Such solid thighs. So pale, so slender. More toned than Harry would have expected. When did he find time to work out? “Good. The last thing I want is to scare you off. But, please speak up if I do anything you don’t like.”

Harry honestly couldn’t think of a single thing he wouldn’t want Severus to do to him, at least nothing from his extremely limited pool of experience. “We’ll see if you can even come up with anything.”

“I suppose I’ll have to take you up on that challenge.” Severus took a long sip of his drink before sitting back, staring into space. “I haven’t had a partner in quite a long time. This is unfamiliar territory for me.”

“Is that what we are? _Partners_?” Harry didn’t know how to feel about that.

“Don’t read too far into my use of the word. I merely meant to say I am not accustomed to working so closely with another person.” Severus leaned his head back against the couch, and Harry saw he was also hard again. Harry was still so slippery and open from whatever magic Severus had used on him. He set aside his drink and slid onto Severus’ lap, grinding his arse against him. Severus grunted. “No, Harry. I don’t want to hurt you by overdoing anything.”

Harry leaned into Severus’ chest, still rocking his hips. “But I want it.”

“That’s the potion talking.” Severus reached back and stroked a finger over Harry’s arse. The sensation shot through him like hot electricity, making him jump. “See? The effects will last a little while longer, no matter how tired we are. Drink your scotch, it will help you calm down.”

“Mm. Yes, sir,” Harry sighed, and Severus groaned in response, his head falling back as Harry rolled off of him. “What? Do you like it when I call you sir, _sir_?”

Severus peered at him through slitted eyes. “Finish your drink before I’m forced to tie you up and leave you gagged in a corner.”

 _Oh_. A flush rose on Harry’s cheeks at the thought of being bound. What would Severus use to do it? Magic? Rope? Did he have a secret supply of sex toys stashed in this library? Harry’s mind was racing a million miles a second, but he kept drinking his scotch, letting a fuzzy warmth drape over him like a blanket.

Severus used wandless magic to clean them both, and began moving about the room, wearing a long satin robe he had conjured out of thin air. He brought a book over to the couch after asking if Harry needed anything, to which Harry had said no, but Severus conjured him a similar robe before sitting down.

Harry barely managed to shuffle into his robe, leaving the tie open. He turned lengthwise on the couch, propping his feet up in Severus’ lap before falling onto his back with a soft thump. Severus snorted at this before summoning a pillow, which he used to rest his book on Harry’s ankles.

Merlin, how could Severus be capable of reading when Harry could scarcely sit still? Keeping his legs steady so he didn’t interrupt this sudden burst of silent reading was practically torture. He could still feel his blood rushing through him, as hot and bright as Cernunnos’ bonfire. He realized the solid thing he felt against his leg was Severus’ erection pushing out of the robe. It was distracting and warm, so he rocked his leg against it.

“Honestly, Potter.” Such disdain dripping from two words.

“Oh, so it’s Potter now? What happened to _partner_?”

Severus placed a finger on his page and pinned Harry with his eyes. “Is that what you want? A relationship?”

 _Yes_.

That immediate thought gave him pause. Was that really what he wanted? He stared up at the ceiling. “Dunno. I’m just teasing.”

“Flattered as I am, right now I need you to be my student. Everything else is secondary, especially considering what we now know about you.”

“Yeah? What do we even know? That I’m being haunted by trains? Honestly, _trains_? They don’t even sound scary, yet here we are.” The image of that pile of carnage in the Grove or the Orchard or whatever that horrible place was called flashed through his mind. So many apples, covered with blood and hornets. So much death. “How the fuck are you so sober right now?”

Severus sighed and set aside the book. It landed on the coffee table with a heavy thump, its cover shiny and black. “I’m not. I simply want to get to the bottom of all of this. I have suspicions, but… it can wait until later.”

“Mm. You know, I was thinking. You’re so eloquent, sir. So good with your mouth. Me? I think my mouth might be better for other stuff.” Harry pulled his legs off Severus and sat up, using his momentum to roll forward, and draped over Severus’ lap. He nuzzled the cock pressed against his face, smelling fresh cleaning charms and the faintest trace of precome. Severus sighed and rested a hand on the back of Harry’s head, giving all the permission Harry needed to take him into his mouth. He rested his head on Severus’ lap, slurping lazily at the length with a hand wrapped around the lower half.

Yes, this was better. Those horrors could wait. There was no need to think about anything else for a while.


	13. Distractions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With this chapter, we have officially reached the end of what I wrote during Nanowrimo!
> 
> I do have several more chapters written in advance. Here's hoping I can stay ahead of my updating schedule for a while still.

Only a few days had passed since their evening in the library, but in that time, Harry had been entirely swept off of his feet by Severus Snape. It seemed like the man didn’t even know it. He would do some remarkable bit of magic, or say something particularly witty, and respond to Harry’s adoring stares with looks of confusion or even embarrassment. Beneath his cool demeanour he was as skittish as a feral cat, but twice as clever.

And cats seemed to follow Severus everywhere. The same dozen or so frequented Prima Materia, most of them arriving at the shop shortly after Severus arrived in the morning. Severus also said they made a habit of striding through his empty house at night as if they belonged there. Harry eventually had to ask where they came from, to which Severus replied, as if terribly embarrassed, that he had accidentally made the smallest of tears in reality in one of the spare bedrooms, and cats just started showing up through it ever since. They would pop through at random, making a terrible racket at the first sight of a closed door.

“Couldn’t you fix this tear, maybe slow down the cat flow?”

“They’re only cats, Mr. Potter,” Severus replied, holding a thermos between his hands. They were standing in Prima Materia’s front greenhouse, watching a white long-haired cat clean itself among a bed of lavender. “Far be it from me to interrupt their multidimensional highway.”

“What were you trying to do when it happened?” Harry took a sip from his own thermos, which he had started carrying with him after Andromeda had surprised him with pounds of coffee beans. Apparently she had grown them on a mountainside farm kept in a magically-expanded hat box.

“Why do you ask? Does the thought of me making such a mistake make you uncomfortable?”

“A little bit, yes.”

Severus laughed lightly and turned away from Harry, walking toward his office. “We all make mistakes, Mr. Potter. It’s simply a matter of how you learn from them.”

He was avoiding Harry’s question, but he wasn’t going to get away with it. Harry followed him into the office, where he saw that the chair he had left beside Severus’ desk the previous day was gone. He turned around, reaching for his wand to summon one from the greenhouse.

“Please attempt it without your wand, first.” Severus seemed to have read his mind, not questioning what Harry was doing as he moved to his own seat.

“Right.” Harry could do this. He had been practicing. There was an iron chair in the far back corner near the front door, small enough to move with relative ease. Heavy, though. He opted for one of Andromeda’s stools, which was wood and would take less tugging. Pausing to take a few long swigs from his coffee, he set the thermos down on the floor beside his feet, then moved it up to the table in response to a protesting scoff from Severus.

He peered into an empty cauldron as he walked by. It was slowly filling with water, which was likely about to be joined by whatever ingredients Severus kept in one of the many drawers of his desk. Harry had been back there a few times now, had managed to take a look at the veritable apothecary’s cabinet built into the sturdy oak frame. He had even gotten Severus to pin him down against it the previous night, after a few days of dedicated antagonization. Severus had put up such a fight, claiming to want to “remain professional” during business hours, but Harry was starting to understand the game Severus seemed to be playing with himself. He liked to refuse things, enjoyed denying himself simple pleasures. Showing him that he could have whatever he wanted of Harry, slowly convincing him that he could just take it, was strangely thrilling.

This wasn’t like Harry at all. He didn’t seduce people. But something about the constant physical attraction he felt toward Severus made him feel so alive, and it was fueled by their shared fascination with what was happening to his mind. It helped somewhat that Harry had been inside Severus’ mind too, he had seen exactly what Severus thought of him. They were both too occupied by work to talk much throughout the day, but after hours they would stay behind and chat until the need for dinner pulled them away. Severus was genuinely likeable, once Harry managed to slip behind his sturdy walls. He was stunningly intelligent and constantly coming up with new ideas, new things to try. Sure, he was pretty emotionally closed off, but he was surprisingly easy to talk to.

But Harry was getting distracted. Wyrdcrafting was easier the less he thought about it, but if he put in the _wrong_ thought, it would do something drastically different than what he had intended. Something like opening an exit on the multidimensional cat freeway, or setting loose a monster in a parking lot. Or maybe sending a wood stool careening through a greenhouse ceiling.

It needed to be used with a casual but certain confidence, rather like a superpower. Or at least, it seemed like one when Severus used it. Harry was very familiar with the concept of superpowers thanks to the comics he used to sneak from Dudley’s room. His ears rang a little as he reminded himself that Other-Harry was the one who had lived with the Dursleys. Static crackled between his fingers and frothed against the air into tiny bubbles, almost like the magic was feeding on his brief confusion. He made a grasping motion toward the stool, and the frothing bubbles snapped and crackled against his palms. The stool flew toward him, slapping into his open hands, pushing him just hard enough to make his heels skid back.

“Good. Try it again, and do try for a bit of grace this time.”

Harry glanced back at Severus, who was watching him with his legs kicked up on his desk, twirling a finger to send various ingredients into one of his cauldrons. Harry tossed the stool forward into the air, catching it on a web of magic before it could clatter to the floor. Bright cords of electric blue light tightened in a criss-cross pattern, barely gleaming in the air as it supported the stool. Harry grinned at the sound of light applause coming from Severus’ desk. He tightened his fingers, meticulously placing the stool back where it belonged. It felt a lot like catching running water with cupped hands. He could do it, but it was overflowing, and if he let go for one instant the whole thing would collapse. The stool landed so gracefully it barely tapped against the floor, which Harry noted with a bit of pride. He turned his attention back to the iron chair in the far corner, beckoning it forward. It lifted off the ground with a loud groan before jerking up into the air. Andromeda let out a startled yelp as it sailed past her, curving smoothly into Severus’ office.

Harry stepped back out of its way and it landed on the floor in front of Severus’ desk with a loud crash, making them both wince. A hidden cat bolted, leaping off a bookshelf and tearing out of the room. Harry walked forward, leaning his weight against the chair’s back. “Eh… sorry about that. Want me to do it again?”

“Absolutely not.” Severus laughed, swinging around to put his feet on the floor. “I know we both have plenty to do today, so I’ll keep this brief. It is time to move on to the next stage of your apprenticeship.” He paused, as if for dramatic effect, his eyes deep and glittering with excitement. “You’re going to hate me for this, I know you will, but it is absolutely necessary. You’ll thank me someday.”

Severus’ hair was tied back with a green silk ribbon today, his clothes as tidy and flattering as ever, and it was far too early in the morning for the emotional whiplash caused by that phrasing. Especially considering how his voice slowed, rumbling over the last few words. Harry smiled and sat down, leaning back casually. “I’d thank you right now if we weren’t at work.”

“Behave yourself, Mr. Potter.” Severus locked eyes with him, clearly amused. It made Harry wonder if he wasn’t used to receiving attention like this. That suited Harry just fine. Blatant flirting seemed to be the only thing that occasionally threw the man off stride. “Now that you have completed your first journal assignment to the best of your abilities, it is time to go further. You have demonstrated a great deal of raw power, but it must be refined. With the proper training, instead of essentially casting an _accio_ on that chair, you could simply teleport it from one place to another, and not run the risk of hitting dear Andromeda in the process. Once you’ve freed yourself from thinking with the wand-based approach to magic you were raised with, your options will expand significantly.”

Severus paused a moment to take his journal from his bag, and Harry shifted eagerly, crossing one leg over the other. “So what sort of training do you have in mind?”

It seemed he had prepared a speech. “Attention to detail is the truest hallmark of a wyrdcrafter. You must start tracking variables. Everything affects the flow of magic, internally and externally. Just as the direction we face or the position of the sun may require minute adaptations, so does the state of our inner minds. Our dreams are of the utmost importance and those obviously need to be tracked.”

“Right...” Harry frowned. He didn’t really like where this was going, judging by the way Severus kept flipping through the journal. Each page was filled margin-to-margin with neat handwriting, occasionally broken up by a sketch or diagram. He stopped at a page and passed it to Harry.

“Other variables are equally important. Note the format I use on this page. Date written at the top, followed by the current planetary placements. Then the amount of hours slept the previous night, with descriptions of all recalled dreams. A brief description of meals and any consumed substances— ah, take your beverage, for instance. I presume you are drinking Andromeda’s coffee?”

“Yeah, with a few drops of something Rosier gave me, too. So I’d jot down that I had coffee, maybe put caffeine and whatever’s in Rosier’s tincture in parenthesis after that? Merlin, I don’t even know what all is in that stuff he gave me.”

“Leave a blank space and fill it in after you ask him. It is certainly worth noting which substances you experiment with over the years, to see which work best for you. Everything affects everybody differently, in one way or another. I’d recommend leaving enough space to take note of the rest of your meals, then move on to the rest. You will also record any notably strong emotions and events, all magic cast, noting whether it was done with or without your wand, and necessary factors taken into consideration prior to every casting. Everything needs to be remembered and taken note of as quickly as possible until it becomes a habit.”

This sounded like a massive pain, but it did seem useful. Maybe he could even add in a section about which potions he worked on each day, to keep a record of recipes and new brewing methods. “And are you still planning on leaving written commentary all over it?”

Severus nodded. “Naturally. At least until you become accustomed to the process.”

“Right.” Harry chewed on his thumbnail, dropping his hand into his lap when Severus looked at him pointedly. He didn't really know what else to say. It seemed like an enormous hassle, and an extremely intrusive one at that, but it wasn’t as if he could tell Severus no at this point. Or, he could, but then he’d probably have to find a new job. “You know, a lot of this reminds me of Divination class. Trelawny made us keep dream journals kind of like this, but I usually just… made stuff up? We all did.”

“Trelawney? Sybill Trelawney? Are you saying she was a professor at Hogwarts?”

“Well, ‘professor’ might be a bit of an exaggeration. She was a total hack. Or at least up until… What?” Severus was staring at him with notable confusion.

“I believe you may have your memories confused. Sybill Trelawney is a highly respected Seer and to my knowledge has never stepped foot on Hogwarts grounds following her graduation.”

Harry gripped the seat of his chair, head spinning as his memories re-slotted and fell back into order. He had never even taken Divination, opting for Magical Runes instead. It had been an entire ordeal—his dad had hated Divination and told him no proper Auror bothered with that as an eventual NEWT course, but his mother had rather enjoyed the class in her day and thought he would benefit from it. It had turned into a huge fight between his parents, yet another instance of his father trying to dictate the course of his life.

“Oh… I guess you’re right, aren’t you?” He chewed his lip as Severus jotted down a note in his journal. “Are you writing down whenever things like that happen?”

“Of course I am. You are currently my primary focus of study.” Severus didn’t glance up as he wrote, filling several lines.

“I thought you were focused on wyrdcrafting. Don’t tell me I’ve thrown you off your research.”

“Consider me utterly distracted, but it’s all relevant. Your situation falls fully into an esoteric category of magic, and I consider that within the realm of wyrdcrafting. I believe understanding the details of your circumstances could be the key to harnessing the power for ourselves.” Severus looked up from the page, twirling his raven feather quill between his fingers.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I’m not yet certain. I hope to know after we’ve finished our initial research.”

Harry nodded and flipped open his journal, kneeling on his chair so he could lean over Severus’ desk to begin describing his dreams. Fewer trains than usual, which seemed worth taking note of. Harry crooked a finger toward an ephemeris, summoning it from one of the low shelves closest to the desk, and turned the page to the current date to find the day’s planetary placements, but glanced up when he noticed Severus watching him. “What?”

“I’m glad to see you’re already becoming accustomed to wandless magic.”

Harry blinked. “Oh. Yeah, guess I am. Seems you’re a good influence.”

Severus merely smiled and returned to his own note-taking. He spoke again a few minutes later, after Harry had put his journal back in his pocket. “Do you have any plans this evening?”

“Not really. I was thinking about attempting a mushroom risotto, but I’d need groceries, so I dunno. Why?”

“Risotto sounds lovely. If you’d rather skip the shopping trip, you are welcome to join me for dinner at my home.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh! Sure. That sounds excellent.” This was the first invitation to spend time together outside of work. Being so new to relationships in general, let alone one with his boss or mentor or whatever Severus was, he wasn’t entirely certain if that was normal or not. But it wasn’t as if he could properly entertain Severus at his own place, so he hadn’t extended an invitation of his own. “I’ll—ah, I’ll stop by and check on Bill to make sure he’s alright first, though.”

Severus scoffed. “I didn’t realize you also had a part-time job as his personal caretaker.”

“It’s not like that… I just, well, he needs somebody to make sure he eats and gets out of the bath, and—” Harry stopped, frowning at Severus’ amused expression. It was a harsh way of putting it, but he was essentially Bill’s caretaker, wasn’t he? They hadn’t talked much at all over the past few days. Bill was spiraling deeper and deeper into a state of isolation. It reminded Harry of how he had been immediately following Fleur’s death. While he had bounced back from the guilt and the grief uncomfortably quickly, claiming they had both known the risks of such a strenuous fertility ritual, those first few weeks had been gravely concerning.

Harry didn’t know how Bill had managed to hang on after something like that, and had long suspected his recovered state had been all for show, only delaying an inevitable breakdown. But it seemed Harry had been right all along. Bill’s encounter with that possessed woman had all but shattered him. Harry desperately wanted to tell Bill about the trains, maybe even share his excitement about his budding relationship with Severus, but talking to Bill was useless. He was there, he was always there, but he wasn’t present. He just seemed… empty. The screaming, flailing night terrors weren’t helping much either.

“I’d still like to stop by and say hello,” Harry finally said, shrugging. “Feed my owl. I’ll need to freshen up a bit anyway.”

Severus nodded. “Then I’ll expect you at seven o’clock.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry grinned and stood up, resting his hands on his hips. “Was there anything else? I need to check in with Osman, and Andromeda said she’s going to need my help at some point today.”

“Rosier has you calling him by his first name now, does he?” Severus asked, folding his hands neatly on his desk.

Harry laughed uncomfortably, wondering why Severus’ tone seemed so irate. “Er, no, not really. He let it slip while we were chatting the other day and got pretty grouchy about it, so I’ve taken to calling him that. Have to keep the old man on his toes.”

Severus nodded, steepling his fingers together against his lips. “I see. Run along, then.”

Feeling well and fully dismissed from the office once again, Harry turned toward the door, pausing when Severus spoke again. “Oh, and I’ll need you to refrain from all sexual activity for the time being as well.”

“Wait, what?” Harry froze, an unrecognizable emotion falling over him. Excitement? Fear? Annoyance? _Something_. He turned around to look at Severus, crossing his arms against his chest. “Why?”

Severus was smiling, lazily twirling his quill between his fingers, his feet up on the desk again. “I’ll explain over dinner tonight. Surely you can contain yourself until then.”

Frowning, Harry nodded. “Alright, but I’m going to need a good reason.” Severus merely nodded and waved him off.

Harry went downstairs, where he found Rosier on the second level of the dungeons, dangling over the edge of one of the extra-large cauldrons with his wizened legs kicking in the air. The chamber smelled like harsh cleaning chemicals, the sort necessary for use with magically-impervious ingredients. “Hey Osman, need any help with that?”

The old man swore and fell into the cauldron with a loud thump. Harry rushed to the enormous thing and tried to jump up high enough to hook his arms over the edge, but he slid down the smooth iron surface with a grunt. He wished he knew that levitation trick Rosier always used, but Rosier popped his head over the edge after a moment and scowled down at him. “You were supposed to be down here to help me.”

“I had a meeting with Severus. You know, my _actual_ boss?”

Rosier floated to the floor and landed with a gentle tap. “Watch your tone, boy. I have three poisons in arm’s reach that could kill you where you stand.”

“Right, and I have a wand if it really comes down to it, but I’d _never_ imagine threatening such a respected elder.” Harry grinned as Rosier swatted at his arm. “So, is there anything new today? Andromeda needs me later.”

“I’ll show you.” Rosier hurried into the hall. Harry popped a piece of gum into his mouth and followed close behind, listening intently as Rosier began explaining the schedule for the day. They discussed their plan of action, which involved a great deal of Harry dashing between the greenhouse and the dungeon. It was going to be exhausting, with a looming dinner date afterward to wonder about obsessively.

“Hey, Osman? Can I ask you something?” Harry asked, walking over to watch Rosier squeeze the juice out of a Murtlap tentacle.

Rosier caught a single drop of acidic purple liquid in a slender bottle. “It’s Rosier, whelp, and you just did.”

“Do you and Severus have some sort of bad blood between you? Every time I mention you he gets really tense.”

Rosier chuckled at that, a dry and raspy sound. He set aside the bottle and squinted up at Harry. “I imagine it’s because he suspects me of trying to steal you away from him.”

Harry could feel himself blushing as he stammered, “I—sorry, but that doesn’t—”

“As an apprentice, you idiot. Don’t tell me you think I have darker intentions than that.”

“Of course not, I just—”

“And I must say I find the direction of your assumptions quite peculiar. Don’t tell me you and Severus are…” He peered at Harry, who gulped nervously.

“We just—ahh—”

“I said don’t tell me. Foolish boy, I have no interest in the fleeting hearts of petty children.” Rosier snapped his gum loudly, frowning at Harry. “He should have learned better from last time.”

That piqued Harry’s curiosity. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Maybe you should ask _him_ instead of bothering me with irrelevant nonsense. Come along, if we fall behind that whole batch of Skele-Gro will be ruined.”

Harry wanted to press the question, but there was a peculiar but very clear line with Rosier, and crossing it was definitely not in Harry’s best interests. Maybe he really would ask Severus directly. He could picture it now. _Hey, Sev, mind going into detail on your past? I’ve been told you might have some failed relationship in there and I’d just love to hear all about it._

Yeah, right.

He set to work, thinking about Severus throughout the day, as he always did. It had been well over a week since he had started the job and he still had yet to see what exactly the man was up to in his office during regular business hours. They had begun meeting up to discuss his journal entries each morning before Severus had anything set out for the day, and by the time Harry stopped by to talk after hours, everything was already cleaned up. In the time between, his office door was always firmly shut, a clear message for all to stay away and leave him to his work.

But Severus had left his door open today.

Harry’s eyes kept tracking back to it, tempted to peer in and see what he was up to, wondering if that would be too intrusive. Luckily, he was too busy to justify taking a break until lunch, and Severus wasn’t even in there then, which was yet another level of agitating. Did he usually go out to eat? What sort of food did he like for lunch? Would he ever take Harry along? And what would they even talk about in a public setting?

His distracted thoughts led Harry into a cement planter box, one that cut off at a sharp angle right at knee height. Yelping, he stumbled back into a table, upending a very large potted shrivelfig, which fell to the ground with a loud crash. He repaired it with his wand before scooping everything back in place, all the while muttering a torrent of apologies to the plant.

“Harry? Are you alright?” Andromeda hurried over, wiping soil from her hands onto her dress.

“Oh yeah, sorry, just got lost in my thoughts.” Harry grinned sheepishly. “I think the shrivelfig is fine, just a little angry with me.”

Andromeda rushed to the plant, inspecting its leaves before turning her attention back to Harry. “You’d better sort yourself out because we have mandrakes to tend to, and they are far less forgiving.”

“Great. I call dibs on the fluffy pink earmuffs.”

She kept him occupied in the greenhouse for the rest of the day, barring a few quick trips down to the dungeon to tend to the St. Mungo’s order. Harry entirely missed Severus returning from lunch, didn’t see the man at all, even at the end of the day. That was disappointing, but Harry supposed something had come up. Severus would have sent him a note if their plans were canceled, so at least he still had dinner to look forward to.

Harry apparated home, arriving inside the garage. Hedwig was out for the day, likely sleeping at one of her favorite higher altitude haunts, but he wanted to put out some food for her just in case she felt like coming home.

He climbed the few steps leading into the kitchen and froze. There was blood everywhere. It was smeared across the linoleum floor, splattered on the refrigerator and the cupboards. Heart pounding in his throat, Harry hurried into Bill’s bedroom. _Please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead, please oh please don’t be dead._

The room was empty and the bathroom was too. There was no trace of Bill anywhere, other than a few bloody smears on the garage door that he hadn’t noticed before. Harry wandered outside, staring helplessly down the sidewalk. It was freezing outside. Could Bill have walked somewhere? Harry decided to check the pub a few blocks away, one of their favorite local businesses, just close enough to get conveniently hammered and make it home safely without having to risk splinching themselves. He hurried down the sidewalk, keeping an eye out for any more bloodstains on the way.


	14. Street Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, this chapter is a difficult one. Please mind the blood and gore tag, but I need you to trust me here.

The pub was a dive, and that was part of its appeal. It was clearly muggle, and everything seemed to be covered with a thin layer of old beer and sticky varnish. They didn’t serve firewhiskey, but muggles still knew a thing or two about alcohol. Enough for Harry and Bill’s needs, at least. But best of all, it was only a short walk away from Bill’s place. No need to risk splinching oneself when home is only a few blocks away.

A mirrored ball dangled over the bar, reflecting the light of a neon sign advertising a lager brand. Its amber light shifted over Harry's face, glaring against his glasses. The cheery light was at odds with the rest of the place. A woman was all but sobbing into the karaoke machine along to a ponderous beat. A handful of the aged wood tables were occupied, but only a little conversation drifted from them to Harry's ears. A decently busy day, especially since the weekend was a far way off. Busy and utterly depressing.

Harry looked around before sitting on a wobbly barstool, waiting for the bartender to come over so he could ask her about Bill, but the young woman ignored him in favor of a paperback book. Elbows propping his head up on the bar, he kneaded his scalp and wondered where else he could look. The parking lot where the toothy thing had first appeared? But why would Bill need to go back there? Harry wasn’t even entirely sure how to get there. It was close by, but definitely not walking distance, especially considering Bill’s likely state.

A familiar voice made Harry perk up his head, and he saw Bill emerging from the women’s restroom, a wispy brunette hooked around his arm. Relief washed over Harry, followed by confusion. Bill seemed to be entirely intact, not a drop of blood staining his clothes. He noticed Harry and waved, dragging the woman over to the bar. “Hey mate, I thought you were at work.”

“I just got out… are you alright?”

Bill grinned, eyes glistening with frantic energy. Probably high, though that didn’t help explain anything. “Never been better. Me and Julia here were just headed back home. Treating her to some homemade coffee.”

Harry’s coffee—the nice stuff Andromeda had given him, naturally. He knew Bill didn’t have his own, but that was fine. Julia simpered at him, her eyes bloodshot and hazy, and Harry resisted the urge to cringe away from her. “Mind if I tag along? I only came here to look for you.”

Not that Harry wanted to be the third wheel, but he had a very bad feeling about this woman. Something about her seemed off. Absent. Just like how Bill had been the past week or so. But he seemed fully restored now, practically jittering with energy, moving to squeeze his arms around Julia from behind. Harry could only begin to imagine what Bill must have taken, because he was clearly under the influence of _something_.

“Yeah, man! The more the merrier! But you’re on coffee duty!” Bill lifted Julia up in a bear hug, forcing a loose wheeze of air out of her lungs. She went limp, dragging her ankles on the floor when Bill tried to set her down. Bill laughed, the sound shrill and unsettling as he stared over her shoulder at Harry. “Come on, lamb. Harry’s going to take good care of us. Aren’t you, mate?”

“Right. Sure. Come on, I’ve got stuff to do tonight.” Harry tried to not make a run for the door, settling for a brisk walk as they lagged after him.

They made an awkward trio on their way down the sidewalk. The woman occasionally muttered various complaints about being hungry or too cold, while Bill practically carried her, singing some unfamiliar song with intermittent whistling. Harry hung back, wishing he could just leave now that he knew Bill was alive, but he still had over an hour to kill until his date with Severus. Neither Bill or Julia seemed to notice the blood inside, or at least they didn’t bother to acknowledge it, other than Bill leaping over a puddle on the kitchen floor. He immediately took Julia to his bare mattress in the living room, sitting down beside her to roll a cigarette while Harry busied himself making them some coffee.

The situation was incredibly uncomfortable. Bill’s mattress was filthy and speckled with blood, but neither of them mentioned it. Harry tried to stay calm, tried to focus on measuring out the coffee as every sense he had picked up as an Auror screamed at him to draw his wand and keep his back to the wall.

He desperately wanted to ask what had happened, but it wasn’t safe to talk about it with that woman around. She was probably a muggle, since he knew all the magical folk in the area and she wasn’t familiar at all. Just some random pub hookup. Harry only needed to stay long enough to make sure Bill was safe, to see that his paranoia was unfounded. Then he could go kill some time in a bookstore or go for a walk. But he knew one thing for certain—he was _not_ the one who had to clean up all of that blood, no matter where it came from.

He rolled his eyes at the sound of them making out on the bed. They both had to be alright if they were up for _that_. The mattress shifted, squeaked rhythmically, and Harry turned to face the wall, cheeks blazing with embarrassment as he dropped the bag of coffee beans on the counter. They could serve their own drinks. It was time to go. He was about to head to the garage to apparate away when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Harry turned around, meeting Bill face-to-face. His eyes were sharp, glinting smiles. Thin strings of drool connected angular incisors. The woman sat on the mattress, just visible over Bill’s shoulder, watching them with her own gleaming smiles.

“Hey, Harry. I have something to show you.” Bill’s words were distorted, repeated in threes through each mouth. Harry fell back against the wall, running his hands along the counter beside him, feeling for something to push the man away. “Just stay still, it’ll only take a minute.”

Harry needed his wand or a knife or something, _anything_ , to fight Bill off, but his wand was in his boot and there was nothing else in reach. He gasped as fingers pressed into his arms, squeezing too tight as all those teeth parted, leaning forward to bite into him like an apple. He ducked, pushed, felt a spasm of magic fling out with it, and he directed the motion and intention to throw Bill across the room. Bill smashed into the wall, his elbow crashing into the window facing the street. Guided by instinct, Harry threw his hand forward and clenched it into a fist, his magic simmering and crackling around him as it traveled down his arm to squeeze around Bill, pinning him to the wall in a bright and shining web. Blood poured from Bill’s elbow, running down the wall.

The woman snarled and flung herself off of the mattress toward Harry. He jumped aside and grabbed her by the hair, throwing her to the ground. He kicked her square in the gut, still clutching Bill in his grip as she screamed and stumbled onto all fours. She threw her shoulder into the door leading to the garage with unnatural strength, bursting through and falling down the steps onto concrete. Harry slammed the door shut with a wave of his hand and locked it, before snapping his attention back to Bill.

He thought of Bill’s story from the other night. How he had brought somebody home and they had turned out to be infected by that monster. How they had attacked him. Had something transferred to him like a virus? That could explain why Bill seemed even worse off than before over the past few days. Maybe it took a few days to fully take effect.

But Bill was stuck to the wall now and Harry had no idea what to do with him. He crossed the space quietly, cautiously, magic still simmering around him like a halo full of static, making his eyes burn and his sinuses itch. Bill strained against the web, and Harry willed it to gather together into a stronger barrier, the individual threads joining together like a piece of fabric made of shifting, colorful sea glass.

“Bill? Is that you?” Harry was terrified to even ask. Bill was deathly pale but flushing under Harry’s grip, his eyes and mouth full of too-sharp teeth, matted hair clinging to sweaty skin.

“Of course it’s me, mate, come on. It’s me, your good friend Bill. You know I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.” The words slid through too many clenched teeth. “But you’re hurting me, Harry. Can you loosen up a bit?”

Harry hesitated. Bill’s face was red, rapidly sliding into purple, and crackling magic snapped the air around Harry in a way that didn’t seem entirely safe, making his head feel like a glass jar filled to the brim with buzzing, furious wasps. But those teeth. He couldn’t risk it with those teeth. “What happened to you?”

“I had a few adjustments made.” Bill smiled despite his obvious pain, choking out the last syllables. “It’s not so bad, really, I feel better than ever—”

Harry tightened his grip. “Liar!”

Bill made a strangled noise, each mouth gaping to try to catch a breath but then he _shifted_ , his body flickering in the air under the grasp of Harry’s magic. The smell of burning plastic sizzled off his skin, like he was melting through Harry’s grip. Harry gasped and squeezed his fist harder, slashing it diagonally in front of him in a defensive gesture, and Bill _popped_... His head exploded into a red mist.

But no—that was the wrong Weasley. It was Fred. It was Fred who had died. He had died fighting for his life at Hogwarts and Harry had _seen him_. It had been burned into his eyes like he had stared at the sun. It wasn’t Bill. But this Bill vanished, smeared himself across the room.

His head had exploded. It had exploded into a red mist and Harry should have closed his mouth faster. _His head had exploded_ , and in the process it had sprayed the room with whatever was left of him, his body crushed, pulverized. Harry staggered backward, falling, vomiting all over himself, scraping at his tongue and his face with his nails, sobbing, his hands dribbling with glowing green and blue—sticky and filthy, a leftover mess from the most disgusting kind of magic. Shameful, shameful fucking _street magic_. Harry had been defending himself but—

Maybe he could find him. Bill had shown him how to look, all Harry had to do was slip out of his body, send his mind to the place where Bill swam like a goldfish in the deep dark sea. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t do it, he didn’t know how, he had no idea how to even begin looking, and he wanted to run away screaming from his magic, not delve deeper inside. He was failing, falling down, _useless_. His ears rang, screamed, and his head spun, pain piercing through his skull like a bright sharp needle, and he collapsed.

Harry fell to a warm, dark place where nothing could touch him. No trains, no horrors, no towering horned gods. Nothing. Nobody could find him here. He was safe. Away.

 _Harry_?

A hand touched his shoulder.

No.

Oh no.

“Harry? Wake up.”

But he couldn’t. Why should he? What reason could there possibly be to open his eyes and face what he had done?

A flash of light washed over him, jolting his nerves, throwing him off of a long flat surface onto the floor. He tried to stand up and tripped over his ankles, almost sprawling forward, but Severus caught him, murmuring apologies. He guided him… somewhere. It was better to not look. Severus sat him down and crouched on the floor, staring at him. “Harry. What happened?”

“I—I—he—” Harry drank in a few breaths of fresh air. “I can’t be here. We need to go—”

“We’re at my house, Harry. You’ve been asleep here for at least an hour.” Severus took Harry’s hands, squeezed them. “I found you collapsed on the floor there. Everything is cleaned up, it’s all taken care of. You’re safe here.”

Harry stared at him, shaking his head. He felt ready to vomit again, but there was nothing there except painful dry heaves.

“Wait right here.” Severus stood up and left, and Harry stared down into his hands, his awful murdering hands curled up limp and loose on his lap, clean of blood or filthy magic. He clenched them into fists and then gasped when his nails pricked his palms, reminding him of how he had squeezed the life out of Bill. He shoved his fists under his legs, and another unproductive gag pushed up his chest. He fell limply forward, pressing his forehead to his knees.

Severus returned and set his hand on Harry’s back. “I brought you something to calm your nerves.” Harry turned his head sideways on his lap, barely looking at Severus through the hair falling over his eyes. The bottle was canary yellow and tiny. Severus held it in one hand and guided Harry upright with the other. “It’s an aromatic oil. Just hold it under your nose and breathe.”

Harry leaned against the back of his chair and tucked his feet up onto the seat, needing to stay as small as possible while he clutched the tiny bottle. It smelled like citrus and night-blooming jasmine and wrapped around him to make the screaming in the center of his head slow, just a bit. He breathed it in and followed the scent notes down a path of honey and fresh rain. Eventually his hands stopped shaking and he placed his feet on the floor.

“Can you tell me anything about what happened?” Severus asked.

Harry looked up at him, feeling oddly numb. “How did you find me?”

“I followed a hunch when you stood me up for our dinner. Your employment record had your address, so I apparated to your home and found you collapsed on the floor.”

“Oh. Sorry about that.” Harry curled over the little bottle, closing his eyes to bask in the soothing scent. “I was planning on heading right over and then, well, I had to find Bill.”

“And did you?”

Harry stared down at the bottle, the numbness lurching, tingling into something else. “He, um. Yeah. I found him.”

 _His head had exploded_ and Harry had no more vomit left. He dropped the bottle. It bounced off the carpet and rolled into the chair leg as he buried his face in his hands.

“Are you hurt? Did something attack you?” Severus pressed his hand against Harry’s shoulder, and Harry quivered as he leaned into him.

“No. They barely even touched me.” Harry barely managed to whisper the words. “One of them got away and the other one—”

Severus dropped down to his knees, taking Harry’s hands. “You don’t have to talk about this now if you don’t want to.”

“I killed him.”

The hands tightened around his. Severus hesitated, as if waiting for Harry to continue, before gently prompting him. “What happened?”

“I went home. Found blood on the floor. Blood everywhere. Couldn’t find Bill. So I went to the pub down the road and he was there with some woman. We went back to our place with her. I was going to make them some coffee. The woman was real fucked up and Bill was… I had assumed he was high on something, but there was something wrong. His eyes… He attacked me, so I—I—”

“What happened to the woman?”

“She ran away. I locked her out. And then I crushed him.” Harry paused, waiting for Severus to react, but he was silent, so Harry continued. “He tried to attack me, so I pinned him against the wall with—with fucking _magic_ and I didn’t mean to but he almost broke free so I… I had to stop him.”

He looked down at Severus, hated how he could see his own hunched silhouette in those dark eyes, hated having anything touching him, especially his _fucking hands_. But Severus kept holding on, kept clutching them. “You did the right thing. You were defending yourself.”

Harry pulled back, knocking the chair to the ground as he wrenched his hands free and leapt to his feet. Severus sat back on his heels, watching him with some unknowable expression, and Harry couldn’t stand it. He spun away and twisted his fists into his hair. He couldn’t look at Severus. He couldn’t let anybody see his face. “I’m a murderer. I killed him with stupid fucking accidental _street magic_.”

There was a long pause before Severus replied. “It was protecting you.”

Harry all but hissed at that. “Don’t let me pin the blame on anything but myself. That was _me_. I decided to grab on even tighter and rip.” He curled over himself, crouching down, tearing at his hair. “I don’t deserve to be your apprentice. I don’t deserve _anything_.”

Severus didn’t speak, and that suited Harry just fine as he collapsed onto his side and sobbed. He cried until it felt like every tear had been pushed out of him, and just as he was getting a second wind, a hand smoothed over his back. He stilled. The hand kept stroking, petting his hair in even motions. Harry sniffled and slowly rolled onto his hands and knees, crawling close enough to rest his head on Severus’ lap, who plucked off his glasses and set them aside before continuing to stroke him.

Just as he began to wonder if he needed to feel embarrassed, Severus spoke. “I found something while I was cleaning up. A note to you from Bill.”

Harry swallowed, keeping his head pinned to Severus’ lap. “What did it say?”

Severus shifted, and Harry heard the soft sound of paper flick between his fingers. “It’s a business card for a comic book store, with your name and ‘parking lot cultist HQ’ written in pen.”

“Shit.” Harry laughed through another dry sob. “He still wants me to keep up the investigation.”

“It may be wise to take a look. I’d like to come with you. I think… I think I may be able to help, assuming we find the necessary information.”

Harry sat up, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “Great. Let’s do it.”

Severus frowned. He reached for Harry, hesitated, then dragged his thumb across Harry’s brow to pull the damp hair from his eyes. “Right now?”

“There’s no way I could do anything else tonight other than cry. I… forgot him. I _abandoned_ him. You said you could help and I never asked, I was too caught up in… well... I owe it to him to see what this is about.” Harry got up, chewing his lip as Severus nodded and stood, handing Harry his glasses.

“I’d insist you eat something first, but I can’t imagine you have the appetite,” Severus said, helping Harry to his feet.

“Yeah, sorry for ruining your dinner plans.”

“That’s perfectly fine. I’m only glad I decided to go look for you.”

“Trust me, it would literally take a life or death situation to miss a date with you.” Harry tried to smile at him but it felt raw. Forced. “I know that area, I can apparate us there.”

Severus offered him his arm. “Lead the way.”


	15. Reconnaissance

They apparated to the comic book store, landing in a puddle of slushy snow. It immediately splashed up Harry’s legs, soaking into his clothes. The surrounding businesses were closed for the evening, their lights off except for a few small neon signs hanging in the windows advertising fried food and payday advances. Harry led the way, determined to keep moving, to focus on anything other than what had happened—never mind the trembling in his limbs. They passed a few doors, peering through windows in search of the comic book shop.

The silhouette of a man in a window made Harry jump. Tears sprung into his eyes, running freezing tracks down his face as fell back against Severus, who caught him by the shoulders. “It’s not real, Harry. It’s some sort of…”

“That’s him. That’s the tooth-eyed man.” Harry wanted to vomit, or scream, or break the window, but he stepped closer, peering through the dirty glass. “It’s some sort of cardboard cutout. An advertisement.”

“Whatever for?”

Harry was familiar with muggle comics. He used to pinch them from Dudley’s collection whenever he could, and Sirius had given him hundreds over many birthdays. It was a fair price to sacrifice magical animated illustrations for the sheer quantity of muggle art. This cardboard man was drawn in a classic style, with vivid colors and bold black outlines. He was larger than life, smiling, with white hair and sunglasses pushed up onto his head, bright teeth shining in both his mouth and two wide eye sockets. He wore a white shirt and faded blue jeans, grinning down at them with his hands on his hips. There was writing across a placard near his feet, but it was covered by the bottom of the window.

“Looks like he’s a character from some muggle story…” Harry sucked in a shaky breath, forcing the will to move, to even continue on. “This must be the place. Let’s go inside.”

Severus nodded and pushed back his sleeves before placing his hand flat against the door. The air around him trembled and light swept over the building in a brief flash of eerie green before rushing back into his palm. The color swirled in his eyes for an instant as he looked to Harry, two twin pools of green glowing against his pale face. “Nobody’s inside, but there are a fair amount of enchantments in a small room in the basement.”

“Wicked,” Harry said, but his voice was dull. He wanted to be more enthusiastic about the impressive display of magic, but he could hardly feel anything beyond apprehension and constant, thrumming nausea. He clutched his wand in his hand, grateful when Severus didn’t remark on his decision to forgo wandless casting, and unlocked the front door. It swung open and they stepped into the dark store.

A narrow patch of light from a nearby streetlamp barely illuminated the cramped room. The front counter was only a few paces from the door, and each wall was covered with shelves upon shelves of comic books. A few plastic card tables filled what little floor space remained beside the cardboard cutouts cluttering the front corner. Harry shoved past a life-sized Superman to get a better look at their target. He clenched his teeth together at the sight of that grinning face and looked down at the sign by its feet.

“The Corinthian. Guess that’s what he’s called.”

“ _Excellent_. Finding its name was our first task. Our job is all but done, but I’d like to look for more information while we’re here.” Severus seemed incredibly excited by this, and Harry wasn’t sure why.

“But it’s… fictional?”

Severus nodded, stepping in closer to get a better look at the thing. “It would seem that doesn’t entirely matter. Do you expect we could find more information on this character in one of the books here?”

“Probably.” Harry looked over the sign again for an author’s name and scanned the shelves. Everything seemed to be arranged more or less alphabetically. “It’ll probably be somewhere over here.”

They found everything they could by the author and spread them out on one of the tables. Severus sat down on a metal folding chair, seeming undaunted by the pile. He opened the glossy cover of the first one and flipped through it, quickly inspecting each page before picking up the next. Harry was too tense to sit down, too anxious, so he paced back and forth as Severus continued to skim each book.

Harry’s eyes kept flicking back to the cutout, hating the way it grinned at them, as if it knew something they didn’t, as if its lifeless form was fully aware of what chaos it was causing in the world. He wanted to punch it in its stupid smirking face, so he did. A wave of violent red light shook the front window as his fist shot through cardboard, obliterating its head. He staggered, catching his balance on the wall.

“Harry.” He cringed, shamed by Severus’ warning tone. He stepped away from the wall and turned to see Severus watching him. “You need to calm down before there’s an accident.”

He sat down at the card table, landing hard onto another metal chair next to Severus, who looked at him for a long moment before returning his attention to the comic book. Severus seemed exhausted, his face barely illuminated by a summoned blob of floating light. Fighting back a welling sob building in his chest, Harry muttered down into the table, “I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize, but try to be more careful. Letting your emotions take control can be dangerous.” He handed Harry three comic books. “Start with these. I have found one instance of the Corinthian, but there was scarcely any information. See what you can find.”

“Okay.” Harry flipped open the first page and breathed in the familiar scent of heavy ink on paper. It was difficult to focus on the words, to focus on anything but the nagging screaming terror still gripping his entire body. But he had to do _something_ , so he tried to admire the art.

“I’ve found it.” Severus said after a few silent minutes. He slid a book closer to Harry, who craned his neck to get a better look. “The Corinthian—Everyone’s Favorite Nightmare. It was right there on the cover, I was just too damned tired to notice it.”

“That’s alright. Here, I’ll read through it while you take a break.” Harry dragged the comic closer and flipped it open to the first page as Severus pulled a small vial from one of his many pockets. He removed the tiny cork and tipped a small amount of thick golden liquid onto his finger. Harry paused his reading to move a bit closer, staring at the vibrant gold. “What is that, anyway?”

“I call it Lion’s Sun. It’s a blend of various supplements. Nootropics. Similar to the tincture Rosier gave you, but considerably better.”

It kind of smelled like honey. Earthy and sweet. Harry was tempted to lick it off Severus’ finger. “So why is it gold?”

“That would be from the Felix Felicis. There is only a trace amount in the recipe, but the color is rather domineering.”

“Is that why you were drenched in gold magic when we first met? And back at that train station.” Harry met his eyes before turning his attention back to the page. “I thought Felix is extremely addictive.”

“As is sugar, but I don’t see you passing it up in your tea.”

It seemed completely different to Harry, but he wasn’t the professional here. “Fair enough, I suppose. So, can I try some?”

“When you can brew it yourself, yes.”

Harry feigned a pout and returned his attention to the comic, whatever levity that exchange had given him fleeing in the face of the waiting art. He flipped through a few pages, confusion and fear combining into a devastating mixture in his belly. “All I’m gathering from this so far is that the Corinthian is some monster that takes over human bodies and gives them teeth-eyes like his. You said before that this might be relevant to my trains, didn’t you? I’m not seeing the connection.”

“It may not be. We know fully well that strange things slip through with irresponsible magic all the time. That’s one of the basic tenets of wyrdcrafting—be prepared for dangerous outcomes. But how much would you like me to feed into this apparent savior complex of yours?”

Harry winced at that, feeling extremely hurt by the words even if the tone was light and possibly joking. He looked away as a slew of Other-Harry memories flew through his mind, set off by the phrase. _Savior complex_. Apparently Other-Severus, the most loathsome villain known as Professor Snape, had many opinions on Harry Potter’s savior complex. Harry stamped down the sudden feelings of _hate_ and _suspicion_ and—no, no, he needed to concentrate. Severus, _his Severus_ , was no traitor, he wouldn’t do those things—

He stared down at the Corinthian, at the white teeth and bloody ink sprawled over the page, and tried to refocusーonly for his thoughts to switch to Bill. What sort of _savior_ could he even be if he couldn’t even save his friend? He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to block out the world, until a light touch on his arm brought him back to the comic store.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that, Harry. I can hardly imagine how you feel right now. We don’t need to do this tonight, we can take the books with us and return to it later.” Severus said it so softly, with affection so gentle and light that Harry forgot all instances of Other-Harry’s spite.

Harry slid off his glasses to rub his eyes. “You said there was a room with enchanted stuff around here somewhere?”

“Yes. Wait just a moment, I’ll look for the door.” Severus stood up and closed the comic in front of Harry. He stacked them all into a neat pile and shrank them down, tucking the stack into a pocket before striding to a back corner. He looked at Harry. “Would you care to learn something new, or would you like to take a break for now?”

Something awful twisted within Harry at the thought. He had just… ruined _everything_ … only hours ago, but it wasn’t as if he could simply give up. Or he could, but then what would be left? What use would Severus have for him after that? He supposed that wasn’t fair, but honestly, what else would they have? Was it too much to hope for a relationship even if he let Severus down?

“I can learn. What is it?” The folding chair creaked as he stood up.

Severus snapped his fingers and a sliver of bright magenta slipped into the air, like a burst of flame from a lighter, but persistent, a twisting flicker of light. Harry came closer for a better look and saw it had a tiny smiling face, a little animated smear of light-life.

“This is a wyrdling.” Severus said it softly, as if speaking too loud would disrupt its wavering form. “It’s a sentient piece of magic that will seek out more of its kind and consume it. Would you like to make one? It’s quite simple.”

Harry slowly nodded, despite his apprehension. This was safe enough, right? He couldn’t blow anything up with such an innocent-looking bit of magic. Severus stepped behind him, took Harry’s hands with his own and lifted them. A pulsing sensation crept down Harry’s forearms, pooling into his palms.

“Do you feel that?” Severus murmured into his ear, soft enough to make the little hairs on the back of Harry’s neck prickle. “Picture that sensation slipping out between your fingers as you snap. Imagine what you want it to look like, what you want it to do. This is very simple wyrdcrafting and I am guiding the flow of your magic, so there is no need to worry about variables. You only need to will the magic to come through.”

Harry snapped and the magic slipped out, a bright flash of magenta splitting the air, twirling together into a similar wyrdling, but his had a miniature frown.

“Lovely. Now don’t get too attached, mine will likely consume yours—” Severus stopped as Harry’s wyrdling opened its jaws far wider than seemed natural and snapped up his own. He laughed, a low sensation in his chest rumbling against Harry’s back. “Nicely done.”

“Probably because you were helping me. So now what?”

“Tell it to search this wall for a door. It can hear your thoughts, you only need to think the command.”

The wyrdling floated forward at the slightest suggestion, bumping awkwardly against the wall until it seemed to catch on something. Hot pink light shot out from its body in solid neon bars, tracing the outline of a door. Severus stepped away from Harry and pushed the door open. It swung inward, leading to a dark stairwell. They descended together, Harry in the back with his arms folded tight against himself. The wyrdling flew down ahead of them, apparently listening to Harry’s wish for better light as it burned brighter and zipped around a corner. There was a brief flash of pink light and an airy gasp. The light vanished, plunging them into darkness. Severus stopped, holding out an arm to keep Harry back.

“One moment.” Severus pushed back his sleeves and splayed his fingers out in front of him, flexing them up and back so his palms pointed toward the dark corner. Harry’s skin prickled, his hair standing up on end as if dozens of invisible strands of thread were stretching through the space, dragging against him as they coalesced into Severus’s open palms.

Light split around them, like a flashlight beam scattering through a prism, glowing blue-green against dingy brown paneling. It shot around the corner and exploded. Vibrating energy swept up the staircase, running a dreadful terror through Harry’s skin, a shiver of gooseflesh reaching up into his scalp.

“Wait here.” Severus swept down the stairs, his robe snapping on a non-existent breeze as more magic enveloped him in a glowing teal-colored bubble. It illuminated the passage like an underwater lantern as he turned around the corner.

Harry waited, trying to not let the close dark walls unnerve him any further until Severus eventually called for him. Eerie teal light painted rippling patterns across the walls and floor of a single room. There was a large basin in the center of the room, empty and made of dented copper, splattered with what looked like old bloodstains. Tables and shelves filled with clutter were pushed against the walls. A large poster of the Corinthian was surrounded by dozens of others, various action heroes and pinups grinning down at them in various costumed states.

Severus stood beside the basin, arms folded as the teal bubble sucked into his body with a sharp pop. “I have a theory.” His voice echoed off the low ceiling.

“What’s that?”

“They were trying to summon something, correct? I imagine one of the participants, for whatever reason, thought too intently on this Corinthian character during a key moment of the ritual. These people clearly have a fondness for… pop culture.” He grimaced, as if he found the notion distasteful. “It seems reasonable that the wrong character could have passed through one of their minds and pushed its way out instead.”

“Even some make-believe fictional monster?”

“I don’t see why not, if their belief was appropriately fervent. Never underestimate the power of imagination. It fuels a great deal of our magic.”

Harry tried to take that information in stride, but he was too tired to attempt to wrap his mind around it. “Alright… Well, I wonder who they were actually going for.”

Severus shrugged and approached one of the cluttered desks. “It’s irrelevant now, considering they’re all dead. But gather up anything that may be useful, we’ll take it all for review along with the comics.”

“You want to steal their ritual notes?”

“I’ve already shredded their remarkably pitiful defenses. If any members of this group still exist somewhere, they should be punished for being so… lax.”

There was a vindictive sort of tone to Severus’ voice, one that made a smile creep over Harry’s face despite the terrible day. “Did their defenses kill my wyrdling?”

“Yes.” Severus began sorting through stacks of papers and spiral-bound notebooks, tossing most onto the floor, others forming a pile on the desk. “But that’s alright, it served its purpose and would not have lasted much longer anyway.”

“And what was that bubble thing around you?”

“That was a shield, in case they had any more surprises waiting. But they didn’t. Like I said—lax. Now help me look for information.” Severus shrank down a sizable pile of notebooks and pocketed them, taking notice of Harry examining a shelf full of cartoonish figurines. “And help yourself to anything that strikes your fancy.”

These people had a stockpile of collectibles that would have made Dudley’s eyes fall out of his head. Some of them were likely worth quite a bit of money, or at least they would have been if they were still in their boxes. “What, are we outright thieves now?”

“Think of it as a trophy. And I highly doubt these people have any pressing need for plastic toys, even if they were still alive.”

Harry took a plastic octopus with articulated tentacles off a high shelf. It was about the size of his fist and bright purple, with a strikingly ferocious glare. “I guess this will do.”

Severus smiled, and Harry couldn’t help but give him one in return. For a moment, he almost forgot where they were. He realized he was actually having fun, exploring this abandoned place with such a capable and confident man. But the moment passed as Severus turned around to take another look around the room. “This should be enough material to get started. All we needed was its name, but the rest will help us better understand what we are dealing with. This Corinthian won’t stand a chance against us. Now, would you like to learn how to create a shield?”

He walked Harry through the process, explained how it was a matter of focusing on the ambient magic flowing around him, and balancing it with the magic contained within his body. Too many additional variables factored into finding the proper equilibrium, but once he found the edge between himself and not-himself, he could summon forth an impenetrable shield.

It seemed terribly complicated, and Severus assured him that it was, that he had no expectation for Harry to create a full shield any time soon, but it was easy enough once Harry gave it a try. He just needed to lock his focus on the desire for everything to come into balance and kind of _drag it_. A thin layer of magic unfolded around his body, looking exactly how he pictured it in his mind—firm but bouncy, strong, pushing outward.

Harry was relieved that it had come to him so easily. It was good to have something go right. “This definitely beats a _Protego_.”

“I’m... glad you agree. You seem to be something of a natural, I must say that I’m impressed.” Severus looked a bit stunned at the result, but Harry figured he had been keeping his expectations low, considering Harry’s state.

But still, Harry couldn’t help but grin a little at impressing Severus, even if his pride felt a bit raw and painful. Being able to keep up with the man was apparently very important to Harry. He followed Severus upstairs, keeping his shield around him all the way until they reached the abandoned street. A cold wind greeted them, and all of Harry’s guilt and fear rose up with it. He could call it whatever he wanted—wyrdcrafting, street magic, it was still the same reckless and unregistered spellcasting that he had used to slaughter his friend. His shield flickered and fell away and Harry leaned back against the wall.

He sucked in a deep breath, forcing down the sob building in the bottom of his throat. It wouldn’t do to cry in front of Severus again. Not here. He had to stay strong. He glanced up at Severus, who was watching him from beneath a streetlamp, then looked back down as tears began to sting his eyes. “This is taking a lot out of me.”

“Undoubtedly. We should return to my home, Blitzy will find you something to eat.” Severus walked toward him, his shoes crunching across the icy sidewalk, and wrapped an arm around Harry, holding him tight around the waist. Harry leaned into him and they apparated away.

They landed on Severus’ balcony and headed downstairs. A few cats trailed after them, sprinting ahead into the library as Severus helped Harry out of his robe, setting it aside before informing Blitzy that they were ready for dinner. Harry kicked off his boots and sat on the couch, propping his back up against the armrest. He swung his feet up and stretched out long, taking off his glasses for a moment to rub the tears from his eyes. A shadow fell over him and he slipped his glasses back on to see Severus looking down at him. He felt a little thrill, a sudden desperate need to have Severus on top of him again, to forget everything else, at least for a little while.

As if he could forget so soon after splattering his best friend’s guts all over the walls. As if he deserved anything when he had immediately gone back out and used that magic again. He scooted his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, his mind locking up as his weight tipped against the back of the couch.

Severus walked away for a moment, returning with a cup. “Drink this. It’s lemon water.”

Harry could scarcely move. He realized he was trembling violently, his breath trapped somewhere in his chest.

“Drink.” The glass pressed against his lips and Harry opened his mouth, water splashing down his chin as he gulped. “You’ve lost a lot of fluids today, Harry. Keep drinking, it will refill itself.”

Harry took the glass and continued sipping, then plucked out the lemon rind and nibbled on it until Blitzy arrived. She brought a house elf-sized rolling cart with her that rattled under the weight of so much food. Silver dishes perched on a white tablecloth, glass domes keeping everything under preservation charms. Severus unceremoniously piled everything onto the table in front of the couch and thanked Blitzy before she left. He fixed Harry a plate, scooping out a generous helping of what looked like creamy rice, slicing a piece of bread and buttering it.

Harry looked down at the plate perched on his knee. “Mushroom risotto, just like I mentioned earlier. That’s… really sweet. Did Blitzy make this?”

“No, I did,” Severus replied as he prepared his own plate.

“Wow. Never would have guessed you were a chef on top of everything else.” Harry took a bite, wanting to try it even as his stomach rioted at the thought of food. “This is really good.”

“I’m glad it’s to your liking.” Severus sat down, perching his plate on his knees. “I do enjoy cooking every so often.”

“Similar to potions, really. Follow recipe, get result.”

“Surely you don’t believe potion brewing is as simple as following a recipe,” Severus scoffed. “I had hoped Rosier would have taught you better than that by now.”

That mention of Rosier reminded Harry of an earlier conversation, of a question he had for Severus regarding former relationships. It was something he very much didn’t want to get into at that moment. So he said something else. “Rosier told me that you’re worried he’s going to steal me away as an apprentice.”

Severus tensed as he looked down at his plate. “He said that, did he?”

He really did seem jealous. “Yeah, but I told him that’s not happening. But it must be fun for him to watch his former student take on one of his own.”

“Rosier wasn’t my teacher.” Severus said it quickly, a frown passing over his face before he shoved an undignified amount of rice into his mouth.

“Oh.”

Harry was too tired to push the subject any further. Another bite of food was more than enough, and it rested uncomfortably in his twisted gut. He set his plate on the table, hoping Severus wouldn’t take offense, and focused on his water, on taking steady sips and the cool condensation under his fingers, on the slight warmth he could feel radiating off of Severus’ body. He realized there was music playing, but the volume was turned down low. Less gentle than before, the sort of classic rock music his mother liked. He swayed to the beat and tried nibbling at his bread, which had been smeared with a generous helping of garlic butter.

Severus set down his empty plate. “I’ll tell you about my former mentor sometime, when it becomes relevant. But Rosier is merely an old friend.”

“Yeah, _very_ old.” Harry felt better with a bit of food in him. At least until he started thinking again, starting speeding down that spiraling track of guilt and sickening fear and—

The sound of clattering plates broke his stream of thought, and Harry jerked his head up. One of the cats had made its way onto the table to investigate Harry’s abandoned dinner. It swatted at a fork, knocking it into a serving dish, and jumped in surprise at the resulting noise, taking off across the room. Severus shifted on the couch to face Harry. His elbow pressed against the back of the couch, his hand propping up his head.

The attention made Harry squirm. What did he want? And what did Harry want, for that matter? Was there going to be some seduction attempt now? It would make sense, right? They were… doing that now, weren’t they? Unless Severus needed more of that Cernunnos potion—but that was ridiculous, he wouldn’t—

“Harry.”

His speeding thoughts slowed, backpedaled, and he took a deep breath in. “Yeah?”

“How are you feeling?”

“Um.” Harry looked down at his cup, which had refilled while clutched between his hands. He took a sip. “Queasy, I guess.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to sleep soon?”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t know if I’ll ever sleep again.”

“I have Dreamless Sleep, if you’d like.”

Not a chance. That stuff was dangerous, and he hated how it made him feel the next morning. “I don’t know… I think I might stick this one out.”

“Alright, but I’m certain you’re aware that lack of sleep tends to play strange tricks on the mind.”

“Well, yeah, I know that.”

Severus shifted, crossing one leg over the other. “It’s stronger when one is becoming reacquainted with their inherent magic, as you currently are. You’re aware of things you never would have noticed before, and they can become... nuisances. Flickering motions from the corner of the eye, and the like. Nothing harmful, but irritating all the same.”

“Well, I’m not even entirely certain I want to do this anymore, anyway.” _There_. He said it. “Why should I, after what happened?”

“I understand.” Severus was still looking at him, still regarding him with an even expression. “I’ve had many similar experiences in my past. Some were almost as horrible as this, others not so bad, but each and every time was nearly my last. You _are_ allowed to walk away, if you ever decide that is what you need to do.”

“Oh.” Harry leaned back against the armrest, scooting his feet back so he didn’t touch Severus. He didn’t deserve closeness, didn’t feel right seeking it out. “What’s even the point? Why bother with this? Regular wand magic is just as good, just as useful. Safer.”

“I suppose because there are many different kinds of people in this world, Harry, and I just so happen to be the sort that cannot walk away from a mystery. There is so much nuance to magic we still do not understand, so I must learn as much as I can. To do otherwise would be intolerable. I had assumed you were the same.”

Harry felt as if his lungs had been torn out, replaced with an empty, howling void. He forced himself to take a few deep breaths, staring down at his clenched fists. “And what made you think that?”

Severus stared at him, his dark eyes pinning Harry in place. “I knew it the moment I saw you outside that club. The way the stars spoke to you, just as they speak to me. Those constant reminders that there is always more out there. Always more to understand. To master.”

Harry smiled a bit at that reminder of the stars. Severus had a point. Whenever Harry looked up into a flawless night sky filled with the dazzling light of the Milky Way, he couldn’t help but wonder what possible limitations there could be in a world filled with so much beauty. “Do you really think something brought us together? That’s what you said when you decided to hire me.”

“I do, yes. I do not believe in coincidences, Harry. Especially not immediately following a ritual meant to find the ideal apprentice.”

Oh. Severus had never mentioned anything about that. “I’ve never heard of magic like that before.”

“There is a lot about magic you don’t know yet. And there is much that I’d like to teach you, if you’re willing to give it another chance.” Severus paused a moment, looking as if he had more to say. Harry sipped more of his water and set aside the glass, repositioning himself so his legs were folded beneath him. Severus looked away, toward a low display case in the corner. “I could even show you how to save your friend.”

“What?” Harry was certain he hadn’t heard him correctly.

“Time travel isn’t that complicated of a process. While it is an extreme last resort, I could certainly take us back a few days and stop your friend from becoming infected by that creature.”

Merlin, but Harry could feel the tears welling up in his eyes and there was no stopping them, there was no holding back the wave of emotions. His heart twisted in his chest and he buried his face in his hands, smashing his glasses against him, and he didn’t care, he didn’t notice. He cried into his hands, shuddering under the force of his sobs.

A hand smoothed over his back and he wrenched away, staring up at Severus in disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I’ve been torturing myself all night and all this time you knew you could save him?”

“I— ah.” Severus pulled his hand back, curling it up against his chest. “I’m not good at these things. I apologize.” He took a deep breath, dropping his hand into his lap. “I needed that name before we could do anything. I couldn’t get your hopes up before I had that critical piece of information. But now we have it, and we know what it is, and I know beyond any shadow of a doubt that we can stop it.”

A glimmer of irritation ran through Harry, but he was too overwrought to act on it. He sniffled, ran his arm under his nose, staring at Severus through his tear-smudged glasses. “So what do we have to do?”

“You need to get some rest while I prepare. I’ll ask Blitzy to prepare a bedroom for you.”

“I’d rather sleep on this couch if it’s all the same to you.” Traversing those silent halls was the last thing he needed, especially when it was so warm and comfortable here.

Severus stood up and began gathering the dishes. “That’s perfectly fine.”

Blitzy arrived shortly after, teetering under a heavy pile of blankets. A silver tea set hovered in the air after her, wafting jasmine and a lurking herbal aroma. She fretted over Harry, tucking each blanket securely around him before adding yet another until he was fully buried, much to Severus’ amusement, and then plucked his glasses off of his face. She cleaned them and set them aside on the table before pushing a cup of tea into Harry’s hands, which barely poked out of the almost comical layer of blankets. Harry gripped the warm cup, craning his neck down to take a sip, his arms mostly trapped in one position.

The aromatic herbs set to work quickly, aided by the purring warmth of another cat curled up on top of his blankets. The last thing he saw before he slipped away into a heavy sleep was Severus at the other end of the couch, curled over a heavy black tome marked with a glossy violet emblem on the cover. He turned a page and glanced at Harry, smiling before returning to his reading.


	16. Soap Bubbles

Harry woke to a heavy weight landing on his gut, followed by contented purring. He cracked open one eye to see the blurry outline of an orange cat kneading into his stomach. It jumped off of him as he stretched, and a quilt fell onto the floor with the rest of the blankets. It seemed he had managed to escape the heavy stack Blitzy had layered over him while he slept. The blankets were heaped in a pile on the floor, the table ordinarily placed in front of the couch pushed aside to make room. Severus must have moved the table before he left at some point in the night.

It was disorienting waking up somewhere new, but then again, Harry was always disoriented when he woke up lately. His dreams had been tame enough, without a hint of train imagery—at least as far as he could remember. He rubbed his eyes, taking a moment to try to get his bearings. The library was quiet. A large painting, the only decoration on the walls otherwise filled with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, had changed into an enchanted window overlooking a picturesque snow-covered forest view. The rising sun trickled over the tops of the snowy pines, casting soft shadows over the dim room, making it just bright enough for Harry to see. He got up, still dressed in yesterday’s clothes.

A mug of coffee was waiting for him on the table beside a note, which told him that Severus had to take care of a few errands, and that he would be back well before noon. Harry really didn’t want to be left alone, but it wasn’t as if he could expect Severus to sacrifice all of his time. He wondered if Severus had stopped by Prima Materia to let Andromeda and Rosier know they would be absent for the day. Rosier would likely be furious.

Harry set down the paper and picked up the mug. His coffee had been prepared just the way he preferred, very sweet with a lot of milk. He sipped at it as he wandered around the room, wondering what he could do to keep himself occupied until Severus returned. A shower and a change of clothing would be nice.

He felt wrung-out. Exhausted, despite his surprisingly restful sleep. Supposedly they were going to go back in time and rescue Bill, possibly even that day, but it was hard to believe. The last thing Harry needed was to get his hopes up. He was fairly certain he wouldn’t be able to take the disappointment of their venture failing if he let himself think it would work.

There was a piano in the corner. He drifted toward it and ran a finger down the smooth white keys. The high notes rang through the quiet room and he pulled his hand back, oddly embarrassed to have broken the silence. He turned his attention to a display case. It was positioned against a wall, about waist-high, made of elaborate wrought iron with a flat glass cover. Three large books sat inside. All three had shiny black covers, reflecting the light as if they had been dipped in ink, and each was stamped with a unique emblem. There was a green serpent, a red dragon, and a violet phoenix. The phoenix one looked like the book Severus had been reading last night while Harry fell asleep beside him. Harry tilted his head to better read their sides, hoping to find titles, but each book only had ‘Voldemort’ written down the side in thin silver lettering. His breath caught at the name.

Finishing his coffee in a few rushed gulps, he returned the mug to the table before attempting to open the case. It was locked. He ran his fingers along the edge of the lid. Harry had mentioned Voldemort before; one of his clearest pieces of information from Other-Harry’s life was that Voldemort had murdered him in a forest. But while Severus had acknowledged that he knew of him, he certainly hadn’t mentioned anything about owning any of his books, much less that he kept three of them on display. There weren’t any other cases like it in the room. These books were special.

A few of Other-Harry’s memories pushed forward, dragging along a frenzy of thoughts and suspicions. Snape was a _liar_. He was a traitor and _he worked for Voldemort_. He worked for the monster that had killed Harry’s parents. Was even connected to their death, somehow. The memories were loose, disjointed, piling bits of information on top of each other in confusing layers of truth and suspicion. But the evidence was staring him in the face that all throughout Other-Harry’s childhood, Snape had been little more than a malignant, lying snake that had committed himself to making Harry’s life miserable, and _he had killed Dumbledore_. The rush of anger and paranoia made Harry tremble. He flattened his hands on top of the display case and leaned forward, staring down at the books.

No. Severus was a good man. The books were probably especially valuable, or maybe Severus wanted to talk to him about them but hadn’t found an opportunity. He didn’t owe Harry any explanations, did he? It was so hard for Harry to know what to expect from him, to know how to approach anything without crossing some invisible line. But Harry could simply ask him. _Severus was a good man_. He had saved Harry yesterday, and they were going to rescue Bill. He was kind to his employees. Not to mention all of those cats always flocking around him. Animals were a good judge of character, right?

The overflowing pile of memories ruffled as if disturbed by a breeze, flipping through brief glimpses of unfamiliar events, smears and snippets of situations without context. Severus taunting a school-age Harry, mocking him in a classroom full of students. Forcing his way into Harry’s mind, attacking him with vicious Legilimency. Finally, the memories settled on one image, one he had seen before that still managed to turn his blood cold—Severus bleeding out on a dirty floor.

Harry gasped and pushed away from the display case to stagger toward the couch. Severus’ eyes closing, his face pale, his blood spilled over a worn and splintered floor. Had Severus really died in that other life? The image was too horrible, too sudden and shocking, and all of that blood was too familiar. Too much like Bill, bursting apart, splattering over the walls.

Harry tripped over the pile of blankets and fell onto the couch. Squeezing his eyes shut, he curled his arms around his knees and fought to keep his breath under control. The memory had slipped away, but he was trembling from the shock, clutching onto himself, fighting to think about anything else.

The panic passed eventually but he could feel it still lurking in some dark corner, waiting for the opportunity to strike again. He really needed a cigarette or a joint or _something_. He considered Severus' selection of liquor bottles on the bar for a moment, but the gum in his pocket would be better. The citrus flavor instantly shot through the roof of his mouth and tingled through his head like dozens of tiny fingers scratching at his scalp, massaging out all of his feelings and turning them into smooth, confident thinking. Much better.

He decided that he needed to find something to do, because this dark and silent room was going to keep upsetting him. “Hey, Blitzy?”

She appeared in an instant. “Yes, sir?”

Harry noticed that she was wearing a tidy yellow dress and a small necklace, a sparkling ruby flower dangling off of a gold chain. He smiled at her and stood up, moving away from the tangle of blankets. “That’s an impressive piece of jewelry you have there.”

She blushed, her round cheeks turning bright pink as she clasped her hands over the pendant. “Thank you, sir.”

He chewed his gum thoughtfully as he regarded her. “I’ve never met a house elf with such a fine outfit before.”

Her wide eyes grew wider and she curtseyed again. “Sir has been very generous to Blitzy, sir. Is there anything you are needing?”

Harry decided to not push it, but seeing a well-spoken house elf in actual clothing raised a lot of questions. Had she been freed? It was something worth asking Severus about later. “I’d like to take a shower, can you show me where the bathroom is?”

“Right away, sir!” She sped to the door as if running to escape his scrutiny. Harry followed her through the basement and up the stairs, back into the spacious entryway where they turned down an unfamiliar hall. He realized he had yet to see a single shut door. “Sir’s best bath is just this way.”

“That’s not necessary, I just need a quick shower.” It felt far too intimate to use Severus’ personal facilities. Surely a house this large had plenty of others to choose from.

“Sir said for Mr. Harry Potter to use this bath, sir. It is where he is keeping his special products,” she squeaked before skidding to a halt at the end of the hall, where an open door led to a bedroom. She turned to bob down into another curtsey. “Are you needing anything else, sir?”

Harry peered inside the room and shook his head. “Assuming there’s a shower with a bit of soap and shampoo in there, no. Thanks, Blitzy.”

“If you are needing anything else, please let me know.” She smiled sweetly before apparating away. Harry regarded the space where she had been standing for a moment. Strange elf. Weirdly eloquent. Not that he knew many house elves outside of Hogwarts. Maybe she was special in some way, or more likely, Severus had done some experimental magic on her. That thought left him feeling rather uncomfortable.

The bedroom was done up in the same haughty decor as the rest of the house, with elaborate deep green wallpapers and plush rugs, but the bookshelf by the door was empty, and the top of the dresser and the bedside tables were bare. The bed was draped in green and black curtains. Harry wondered if this was Severus’ bedroom as he ran his hand over the decadently soft bedspread, but it seemed practically abandoned. Severus preferred austere workspaces, but Harry doubted he’d leave his bedroom so barren. The empty bookshelves were a dead giveaway.

Harry crossed the room toward another door that led to an attached bathroom. The floors were spotless black tile, with white walls and polished steel fixtures. A large bathtub dominated the back of the room, spacious enough to comfortably fit at least two people. Harry peeked behind the curtain and was relieved to see a shower head installed on the wall. He wasn’t in the mood to stew in the heat alone with his thoughts—he needed his stress beaten out of him with harsh water.

This room seemed less neglected than the bedroom. There was a crimson robe hanging from a hook by the door and various personal items were scattered about the edge of the sink. A few colorful glass bottles lined the side of the tub, as well as a few jars full of dried herbs on the sill, tucked against a frosted window. One of the Corinthian comics was on the bath mat. Had Severus read the comic while taking a bath earlier? The idea seemed ridiculous.

Dropping his clothes on the floor, he stepped over the high edge of the tub and turned on the shower. He set the heat as high as it could go, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain. A lever on the shower head let him adjust the water pressure, but even the highest setting beating down on his back did little to stop the constant bursts of worry eating at the edges of his thoughts. The Corinthian comic had reminded him of Bill, and now he couldn’t stop thinking about him. His face. The red smearing across the room. No amount of hot water would ever get rid of the sensation of blood splattering across his glasses.

A bottle caught his eye, one that had ‘Use Me’ written on the label. He pulled out the glass stopper. It smelled like peppermint, which seemed like an appropriate herb for a shampoo, so he poured out a handful and scrubbed it into his scalp. The powerful tingling sensation made him gasp, and he scrubbed harder. Suds spilled along his shoulders, running down his arms and back, so intense it almost burned. The smell of peppermint was overwhelming, clearing out his sinuses, making him cough, but as the water rinsed it all away he felt cleaner than he had in ages.

Stooping down to adjust the tap to a more reasonable temperature, another bottle caught his eye. It was long and green, with a handwritten label saying ‘Stress Relief’. Wondering if Severus had set these labeled bottles out just for Harry, he removed the cork and was hit with a wave of perfume. It smelled like a forest and smoky warm leather, vaguely reminiscent of Severus’ library. Just one sniff was enough to make his muscles unwind. He poured a little onto his palm and carefully set aside the bottle. The liquid was incredibly smooth, like a velvety lotion. It didn’t lather, but it was warm and soft against his skin. He covered himself with it, gasping as he reached lower. His cock had stiffened slightly, and the warm substance felt like a mouth sliding over him, making him fully hard almost immediately.

He laughed a little at the thought of Severus going out of his way to set this aside for him, painstakingly labeling it as a stress reliever of all things, but Harry supposed that wasn’t too far off. He stroked himself, sighing at the sensation, and placed a hand against the shower wall to hold up his weight. The aroma reminded him of Cernunnos. He supposed any forest scents would forever make him think of his encounter with the deity.

Picturing that towering beast of a man made Harry moan, remembering that immense form curling over him, lifting his body off of the ground. Biting into his lip, he pictured Severus’ face on Cernunnos’ body. Severus beneath those antlers, walking about with moss clinging to his nude form. Harry thrust into his fist at the thought of how that immense cock would feel pushing into him. If things had been different, Severus could have had him on the ground beside that bonfire. He could have split Harry wide open until they were both as feral as the rest of the teeming mob. Maybe they could go back. Just two more beasts in an endless crowd of fucking and snarling. Harry imagined Severus-as-Cernunnos rutting into him, pumping him full of come, churning it as he kept going and going, and then Harry was the one coming. His eyes rolled back, the pleasure and pressure shooting upward with such an intensity it burst out of his lungs on a shout, bubbling up through his throat, into his head. He cried out, spilling himself all over his hand, almost falling over as the full-bodied orgasm exploded against the center of his brow.

His gum fell out of his mouth, landing in the soapy water. It stuck to the drain, and Harry stared at it as he took a moment to regain his balance, then hunched down to pick it up. His head bumped into something as he moved, something weird and cold and not-quite-there. It felt like a big soap bubble, engulfing his head as he straightened his back, before bursting around him in a brief flash of light—gone before he could even tell what it was.

“Alright, then.” Harry turned off the water, assuming the bubble had come from the shampoo. He supposed it was normal enough to make shower products that produced massive bubbles, but it didn’t seem entirely necessary. Kind of childish, really. Wondering if he should take offense at basically being given a bubble bath mixture to wash himself, he turned off the water and stepped out. Thankfully, there was now a folded towel waiting for him on a small table beside the tub. Hoping Blitzy hadn’t been around while he was distracted by thoughts of a particularly endowed horned Severus, he dried off and slipped on the robe hanging by the door.

There was a clean set of clothes waiting for him on the dresser, beside the octopus toy he had taken from the comic book store. A faded black t-shirt and dark green corduroy trousers were folded on top of a simple black robe. They were all clothes that had been packed away in luggage stored in the boot of his car at Bill’s place, rather than what he kept in his usual rotation. It was as if somebody had gone through his belongings and picked out an outfit for him.

Harry opened the dresser on a whim and saw that it was filled with his clothes, as was the wardrobe. He supposed Severus had found the easiest solution to a problem Harry hadn’t even considered yet—there was no way Harry could go back to Bill’s house, so he was going to borrow one of Severus’ many empty bedrooms.

As he dressed he found a note from Severus on top of his journal.

_Complete your journal entry for the morning and then meet me in the garden.  
—S_

The last thing Harry wanted to do was reminisce on the magic he had cast yesterday, but he did it quickly, rushing through the events in Bill’s house as concisely as possible, before pocketing his journal and stepping out into the empty hallway. It was so quiet. Eerily so. It reminded him of the few winter holidays he had spent alone in Hogwarts, but at least the castle had been brimming with old magic and talking portraits, while this hallway was utterly abandoned. Had Other-Harry been forced to stay at Hogwarts over the winter holidays? How sad to not have a family to go home to, even one as dysfunctional as his own. He supposed anything was better than the Dursleys.

Severus’ house was a nightmare to navigate. Or was it a manor? Harry wondered at the distinction as he looked for a hall that seemed like it might lead to the garden. Every door was open along the way, which didn’t help him at all, but he eventually found his way back to the entryway without needing to call for Blitzy, and he supposed the garden would be in the back, so he ventured deeper into the house.

He found the kitchen, and through that a dining room, where a pair of great glass doors led to a courtyard. Hoping this was the garden, Harry stepped outside. Harsh winter air greeted him, crisp and freezing, making him wish he knew where that temperature-regulating body chain had wandered off to. The courtyard was walled in completely, the only door leading to Severus’ dining room. A clear blue sky was visible over the surrounding buildings.

Severus was sitting beside a small metal table in the center of the courtyard, dressed in an open black robe over a casual shirt and trousers that were tucked into a pair of calf-height boots. His hair was loose, hanging just below the top of his shoulders. Noticing Harry’s studying him, he smiled, looking perfectly at ease. “Good morning, Mr. Potter.”

All of Harry’s apprehensions fell away with that smile. It seemed to be a rare honor to be graced with such a friendly expression, and so frequently. Harry tilted his head to the side. “So we’re back to last name terms, are we?”

“I thought it appropriate, considering this is a work outing, in a way. Come in, sit down.”

Harry wasn’t entirely certain what Severus meant by ‘in’ until he noticed a faint green shimmer in the air surrounding the table. He crossed through and the winter chill immediately fell away. Inside the bubble felt like those lingering moments separating spring from summer, the temperature pleasantly warm, the air lightly perfumed with fresh greenery. There was a pitcher of ice water and two empty glasses, so he poured some for both of them before sitting down.

“Did you get any sleep?” Harry asked.

“Hardly, I was far too preoccupied preparing for today.” Severus took a sip from his water and set down the glass before leaning back in his seat, elbow propped up on the armrest, his long fingers touching his cheek. His excitement was obvious and Harry found it absolutely adorable. Catching, too.

“So I take it your research went well? Are we really going to do it? Today?” Harry leaned forward, crossing his arms on the table.

“We are. That is, if you’re ready.” Bright eyes, complemented by a confident smile. His pupils looked a bit dilated, but it was hard to tell when they were so similar a shade as his irises.

“Of course I’m ready! Well, depending on what you mean by that. What do I need to do?”

Severus’ smile widened as he stood up. “You only need to sit back and pay attention.”

“Pay attention? Why? Will there be a test after?” Harry leaned back in his seat, lacing his fingers together behind his head in a long stretch. His heart quickened as Severus approached and leaned down until they were at eye level with one another. Severus cast a shadow over him, occluding the sun, the whole courtyard, everything.

“Yes, there will be a test. And you should expect it to be rather... thorough.” Severus said the last few words so slowly, trailing the tip of his nose along Harry’s cheek. His breath was warm and when he moved closer, his lips were even warmer.

Harry sighed softly into the kiss, melting as a hand pushed against the back of his neck. He parted his lips, letting Severus’ tongue slip into his mouth. Severus enveloped him completely. The hand tightened on his neck, dragging him up enough to need to brace his hands on his armrest. Harry stood, pushing his arms into Severus’ open robe, clinging to his back, sucking on his tongue, and Severus lifted him. He squeezed his arms around Harry’s back and hoisted him up, swinging him around to sit on the table. Harry wrapped his legs around him, pulling him close, drowning in him. Severus’ scent, the flavor of his mouth, the heat of his body, it all crushed over Harry, leaving him overwhelmed.

The water pitcher fell to the ground with a loud crash and Severus paused a moment, pulling back slightly. One of his hands was twisted through Harry’s hair, the other pressed around his throat. Harry was limp in his grasp, panting. His eyes fluttered shut as Severus pressed a thigh between his legs and brushed lips against Harry’s ear. “You smell divine. I take it you enjoyed your shower?”

Harry nodded, letting out an agreeable noise, and Severus responded by kissing him again. It was long and sensual. Unhurried. Harry sighed when they parted, tugging at Severus’ robe.

“Patience, Mr. Potter. We have a great deal of work to do.”

Of course. It wasn’t as if Harry had forgotten. He couldn’t have. But there was something about Severus that made him feel so utterly intoxicated that the rest of the world fell away at his touch. “I know. And I’m ready. It’s just… I don’t want to let go of you.”

Severus made an amused little noise, almost like a cough caught in the back of his throat. “I wasn’t aware that I was dealing with a romantic.”

“Oh.” Harry let go of him but Severus didn’t move away, only continued watching as Harry fidgeted, twisting his hands into his own robe. “I didn’t mean it like that, it’s just, well, I don’t know.”

“It’s fine, Harry. I’m simply not accustomed to… tenderness.” Severus stared down at him, his brow furrowing for a moment. He straightened Harry’s collar. “You may hold on as long as you’d like, but I’d wager you’ll want to let go when we confront that parasite.”

Harry tensed at the thought and dug his hands inside of Severus’ robes, slipping them up under his shirt. “I’d be willing to take that bet.”

“And what are the stakes?” Severus stepped back and Harry followed, slipping off the table with his hands still pressed against bare skin. “Ah, I have a suggestion. Stay within arm’s reach of me until we return to my library, and I will answer a single question of yours to the best of my ability. But if you stray too far, I’ll be allowed to do anything I wish to you upon our return.”

“Woah, no. No way. Phrase it like that and you could do whatever you want _whenever_ you want.”

“Are you implying that I couldn’t already?”

“Well—” He had a point. Harry rested his head against Severus’ chest, tilting his head down so his glasses wouldn’t push against his nose. “If you could do one thing to me, one specific thing, and I wasn’t allowed to say no, what would it be?”

“I suppose you’ll have to wait and find out.” Severus’ voice rumbled in his chest, humming against Harry’s face. “But we are getting distracted. Come along, the circle is already drawn and ready.”

Harry hadn’t noticed a circle, being too distracted by Severus the moment he set his eyes on him, but one was indeed already drawn out on the tile just beside the table. “What do we have to do?”

“Stand inside. I’ll take care of the rest.” Severus turned them, walking Harry backward until they were positioned inside the center of the circle. “Now if you would please unhand me, I need to activate the spell.”

Harry removed his hands from the inside of Severus’ shirt and crossed his arms. He examined the circle as Severus began moving his fingers through the air, almost as if playing an invisible harp. The circle was drawn with white paint, composed of three concentric rings. Layers upon layers of runes were written around their perimeters. Harry was no stranger to unconventional magical circles, and he had written up his fair share of reports involving them as an Auror—usually at the sites of brutal accidents. But this was advanced far beyond anything he had ever seen.

Runes began to glow as Severus continued plucking at the air, each symbol tugging as if tethered to invisible strings. The air felt charged, heavy with static electricity, and then the runes detached from the ground and lifted, hovering and growing ever-larger until their view of the courtyard was covered, encasing them in a sphere of crackling magical language.

There was a rush of sound, like a tidal wave crashing over their heads. The runes collapsed and Harry found himself pinned to the floor, weighed down by Severus’ body. He opened his mouth to ask a tumult of questions but Severus silenced him with a finger pressed to his lips. “Hush. Our slightly-younger selves are sitting on the other side of this bar. We cannot alert them to our presence.”

Harry rolled his eyes up, attempting to see anything past Severus’ hair, which had draped down to encase him like a curtain. If he strained his vision to the side, he could just make out a selection of liquor bottles on a long wood shelf. It was quiet, aside from their breath, until a too-familiar voice snagged his attention.

“Feeling out of sorts from your late night, I take it?”

That was _Severus_. Holding back a gasp, Harry flicked his eyes to Severus, who was smiling triumphantly.

“…Same as you, I suppose.”

There it was. His own voice. He grinned at Severus and barely spoke above a whisper. “You did it! I can’t believe you actually did it!”

Severus looked incredibly pleased with himself. His breath puffed against Harry’s face as he spoke. “This is nothing compared to the magic I’ll teach you throughout your apprenticeship, assuming you’re no longer having second thoughts.”

It took a great deal of willpower to withhold an excited laugh at that, but Harry tensed when he realized a bartender—or rather, the Porter from the train station masquerading as a bartender—was standing beside them, speaking to their past-selves. Harry could smell his shoe polish, could feel his steps tapping against the floor. They were clearly in the Leaky Cauldron. Was this why he had felt so peculiar when the bartender had spoken to them? Had his slightly-younger self detected some timeline oddity? Harry had completely forgotten about that strange sensation until now. The Porter prepared the drinks and then retreated to the backroom as if there weren’t two men piled on top of each other by his feet, though he was clearly stepping around them.

Severus shifted, settling down on top of Harry so his weight rested mostly on his forearms, and Harry parted his legs, giving Severus room to stretch out between them. It took all of his willpower to not reach up and grab him, but Severus leaned down, crossed the short distance between them. He pinned Harry’s arms over his head, one hand encompassing both wrists, and kissed him lazily, moving with an agonizing pace. He sucked on Harry’s lower lip before pushing in his tongue, tasting every bit of Harry’s mouth. It seemed he wanted to play a game, one where he tried to drive Harry to make some noise while Harry tried his very best to keep his moans to a minimum. They writhed together on the floor, Severus dragging his hips against Harry’s, driving him to the brink of madness. He released Harry’s wrists to push a hand against his mouth, the other slipping down to tug down the top of his waistband.

It occurred to Harry as he focused on the awkward exchange between their previous selves in an attempt to stay quiet that there were two Severus’ present. How lovely it would be for that one to join them on the floor. He wouldn’t say no to that Harry joining them either, while he was in the realm of fantasy. The thought was surprising, but it was also enough to make his hands curl even more desperately into Severus’ hips, for his eyes to roll back in his head. Severus shifted, began pulling down Harry’s trousers. His hand was still pressed against Harry’s mouth, so Harry attempted to communicate his disbelief with his eyes, a frantic widening meant to convey a universal signal for _“Are you sure about this?”_

Apparently, the correct response to that question was for Severus to grind himself against Harry’s exposed cock. Swallowing a groan, Harry arched his back, hands digging frantically into Severus, who reached down and gripped him, stroking with a slow and even pace. Harry wouldn’t be able to stay silent for too long. Sooner or later, he would give them away.

But then, _finally_ , their previous selves left. Severus’ hand slipped free from Harry’s mouth. “You did an excellent job staying silent, Mr. Potter. Ten points to Gryffindor.”

“Oh, Circe, no, not the whole teacher thing.” Harry gasped as the grip around his cock tightened. “I swear, it’s like you _wanted_ me to give us away.”

“Of course I didn’t, I simply thought you might enjoy the risk. I certainly did.” Severus gave him one more squeeze before moving his hand away. “Now come along, let’s track down your friend.”

“But I’m—”

“Now, now. We have a great deal of work to do. There will be plenty of time for that later,” Severus said lightly, as if he hadn’t been the one to start it. He pushed up off of the floor and offered a hand to help Harry up.

“Evil bastard.” Harry shoved his leaking erection into his trousers before taking the hand, feeling all too conspicuous. He tried to position his robe to better conceal himself, but the pub was thankfully empty save for a few tables in the far back corners where nobody paid them any mind. He followed Severus around the bar, taking care to stay within arm’s reach. It wouldn’t do to lose their wager so soon.

“So,” Severus said as he led Harry to the door, “where do you suppose we’ll find Bill?”

“He said he was attacked by a woman he met at the pub down the street from his house. That’s a fair way from here... So, why did you bring us back to the Leaky Cauldron, anyway?”

“The Porter’s presence left a perfectly usable ripple in the timeline. I scryed over all of London for this time of day, and that precise moment just before he spoke to us was by far the most viable ingress. I suppose that’s one benefit to you befriending an unidentified spirit.” Severus looped an arm around him. “Now lead the way.”

Harry didn’t quite understand, but he added it to the ‘ask Severus later’ list. He apparated them to the alley beside the muggle pub just far enough from the road to be inconspicuous, their feet sinking into a heavy layer of fresh snow. Severus removed a vial from his pocket and tipped out a small dollop of thick gold paste onto his finger. “I know I told you that you must wait until you can brew this for yourself, but we can use the extra luck a measure of Lion’s Sun can give us. Go on, have some.”

Harry leaned in eagerly and popped Severus’ finger into his mouth, dragging his tongue against skin. The concoction fizzed against his tongue, numbing it slightly before shooting up through the roof of his mouth and into his brain. He felt alive, confident, sparkling with a perfect combination of elation and focus. This was better than his gum—now he was unstoppable.

He watched as Severus had his own dose, then stood up on his tiptoes to wrap his arms around Severus’ neck, guided by impulsive self-assurance, unable and uninterested in resisting any temptation. Severus pushed him back against the wall and Harry practically purred at the feeling of rough bricks scraping against his back. His senses were heightened, with all of the confidence of a lion patrolling its domain. He tightened his grip. “You’re really going to kill that thing, aren’t you?”

“I am,” Severus replied, dragging his lips along Harry’s jaw. “I’m going to find that woman before she can harm your friend, and follow the infection to its source. I’m going to plunge my hands into the very core of its existence and tear it to pieces.” He paused to press a kiss just under Harry’s ear. Every one of Harry’s nerve endings were on fire, and he could feel Severus’ lips quirk up against him. “And then I’m going to take you home and make you beg me to do the same thing to you.”

Harry cried out as Severus dragged a thigh against his aching cock. He widened his stance to straddle the leg, rubbing against it as their kiss deepened. The hard friction and the soft heat of Severus’ mouth was overwhelming, heightened on the rush of crackling golden vibrancy rushing through his body. His head hummed with pleasure, with dizzying weirdness that rushed up into his brow, like a sneeze trapped in his skull.

“Hmm. That’s... unusual.” Severus pulled back slightly, holding Harry up by his shoulders, a leg still pressed against Harry’s groin.

“What?”

“Magic is leaking out of you, spilling out around you. Rather like soap bubbles.”

Harry looked up, catching the trace of something weird and translucent hovering around him. There were dozens of fist-sized hovering colors wobbling against each other, shifting and refracting the light around them. A few drifted toward Severus, making him flutter his eyes shut as they popped and fizzed against his brow.

“What is this?” Harry asked.

“A spectacle for muggles, to say the least. Try taking a deep breath in and will the magic back inside of you.”

Harry closed his eyes and tried. A loud _pop_ snapped his eyes back open. The dozens of bubbles had joined together into a single blob. It slid around his head, rubbery and cold against his skin. _No, no, get back in there_. He gritted his teeth, trying to force it inside. It twitched, sticking to his skin as it slowly dribbled back into his head, plugging his nose and ears. He opened his mouth to try to breathe as it began to smother him, and more slid down his throat until it was finally all gone, leaving him gasping for air.

He leaned against Severus, who had moved to the side to give him room to breathe. “What _the fuck_ was that? It happened to me in the shower earlier too—thought it came from some of your fancy soap, but that one popped and went away immediately.”

Severus placed a finger under Harry’s chin, tilting Harry’s face up. A golden shimmer flashed across Severus’ dilated pupils as he stared into Harry’s eyes, briefly highlighting the amber tones buried deep in the slivers of his irises. “Magical overflow is nothing to be concerned about—”

“Excuse me, but I just almost suffocated! I’m pretty damned concerned.”

“And I’m glad you didn’t, but it wouldn’t have happened in the first place if you didn’t panic. If you would allow me to continue, it seems your magic is struggling to contain itself within the limits of your body, and it’s spilling over when it’s... overly excited.”

“Sorry, what?”

“It's not entirely unheard of for a person’s magic to behave strangely when they first delve into wyrdcrafting. As your magic becomes less restricted, more attuned to your body instead of your wand, it may seem to develop a mind of its own. Yet another reason for my preoccupation with rigorous discipline.” Severus smiled, running a hand down Harry’s arm. “And naturally, it doesn’t help that you have an overabundance of magic.”

“I do?” That lion-like confidence flared through his veins again. Of course he did—he was unstoppable.

“Yes, possibly a side effect of sharing a body with your other self. Try to be mindful of the presence of your magic within your body. It should be significantly more tangible now that you have spent some time on this new path. We’ll discuss this in more detail later. Now... Are you ready to go inside?”

Harry nodded slowly. He could still feel the bubble inside of him, swirling somewhere in his chest. Or maybe that was just a side effect of the Lion’s Sun potion Severus had shared with him. It was hard to say, but focusing on that liquid gold racing through his veins made him antsy, eager to get going. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

“Good. Follow my lead and stay close. Though I suppose I don’t have to tell you that.”


	17. Prismatic

Harry led the way into the pub, scanning the room for any sign of Bill. It occurred to him as he took a seat at the bar that Severus probably didn’t have much experience with muggle spaces. Despite his rather casual outfit, at least by magical standards, Severus seemed out of place as he climbed onto the swiveling stool and perched his elbows on the slightly sticky varnished wood bar. He looked like a creature from another world with his long limbs and casually aristocratic demeanor, dilated pupils taking in their surroundings with alert curiosity. Even a motion as simple as picking up the laminated piece of paper describing the bar’s specialty cocktails screamed a strange sort of elegance, marking him as something _other_.

But Harry might have been a bit biased. He was all too aware of his infatuation with the man, and it was only growing more intense with every passing day. He could scarcely believe they were here, that they had successfully traveled back in time, back to before Bill had even been… infected, or whatever had happened. Severus was going to save the day, and all Harry had to do was stay close and pay attention. It seemed too good to be true, really, but considering the golden glow the Lion’s Sun had cast over them, he had little doubt in Severus’ abilities.

The bartender approached them, a brawny and heavily tattooed man, and asked them what they’d like to drink. Harry gave him a pleasant smile to make up for the dismissive tone Severus took as he ordered coffee for both of them. The bartender nodded, and Severus turned in his seat to examine the quiet pub. “Do you see your friend?”

Powerful deja vu fell over Harry as he watched amber light slide across Severus’ face, reflecting off the mirrored ball overhead. He had just been here. He had sat on this same wobbly stool, saw those same amber lights shining off that mirrored ball, right before he had helped Bill take that woman to their house. Harry’s sinuses prickled, making him wonder if that magic bubble he had accidentally created outside was still stuck inside of him. “No, but we could be early. Or he might be hanging out in the bathroom. That’s where he was the last time I was here. Before… you know.”

“Then we should check.” The bartender set down two mugs of coffee, and Severus looked to Harry. “I don’t suppose they accept knuts.”

“I’ve got it.” Harry pushed a hand into his trouser pocket, panicking slightly when he realized he wasn’t carrying his wallet, that he had absolutely no idea where it could be. He glanced at Severus, who cocked an eyebrow. Harry interpreted the expression as a challenge. He kept his hand in his pocket and curled his fingers, using a bit of simple magic Severus had taught him the other day. A bar napkin on a nearby table fell to the floor and skimmed over toward him, tugged on a thread of magic and intention, creeping up his leg and into his pocket. Another twist of his fingers transfigured it into a temporary replica of a muggle banknote. The pressure in his sinuses spasmed as Harry slapped the note on the table, and the bartender took the money without comment.

“Well done, Mr. Potter. I’m glad to see felonious magic comes to you so easily.” Severus’ lip twitched in approval before he sampled his coffee. He made a disgusted face and set it down. “Now then, I’ll check the men’s while you check the women’s.”

“I don’t think so,” Harry scoffed. “I’m supposed to stay within arm’s reach, or have you forgotten our wager? You’re not going to make me lose that easily. Besides, why do I have to check the ladies’? Are you implying that I’m less manly than you?” He was feeling rather energetic, twitchy and giddy from the Lion’s Sun and the excitement of going out in public with Severus. It was almost like a date, if not for the whole traveling through time to save his best friend’s life part. He delighted in the way Severus’ eyes narrowed at his refusal.

“If you’d be so kind as to accompany me to the restroom, I would be happy to show you exactly what I think of your manhood.” Severus said it so lightly, smirking as Harry choked on his coffee.

“And here I assumed we were supposed to be acting professionally.” Harry set his mug down, pushing the offensively bitter drink away. Andromeda’s coffee beans were far superior to whatever had created that sludge. “But we should check.”

“Yes, let’s.” Severus glanced around the room distastefully, as if suddenly remembering where he was, his attention lingering on a rather rough-looking group of muggle men. “Lead the way.”

Harry grabbed Severus by the arm and pulled him toward the short hall where both sets of toilets were tucked away. The door to the men’s was further back, almost entirely hidden from most of the pub. Harry pushed the door open with his hip and dragged Severus inside. There were two urinals and a single stall, its door hanging open to show nobody was inside, but his eagerness to be alone with Severus faded at the sight. It looked atrocious and smelled even worse, like old piss and stale cigarette smoke, and the soles of his boots stuck to the yellowed tile floor.

“I’d ask you for your opinion on my manhood now, but…” Harry trailed off, suddenly glad his nose was so stuffed up. “Should we check the women’s?”

“Yes, but we’ll do it from here, as unappealing as that may be. I think I hear voices coming from the other side of this wall.” Severus paused, and sure enough, Harry heard the sound of at least two voices coming from the adjacent room. “Now watch how I move my hands.”

Severus moved closer to the wall and Harry followed, trying to stay within arm’s reach without bumping into the filthy urinals. Traces of thin yellow light shot out of Severus’ fingertips, spilling into the room in hundreds of thread-like strands. The threads spun together and solidified, criss-crossing into shifting geometric patterns as they moved to the wall.

“What are you doing?” Harry tried to study Severus’ motions, but he was working too quickly to follow.

“Lock the door. We don’t need any muggles walking in,” Severus replied. Harry quickly obeyed, using wandless magic to turn the lock. His sinuses throbbed as he cast the spell, making his eyes water. “I’m making a one-way window. These beams follow my intention, and I’m instructing them to cut through this wall without revealing themselves to anybody but us. Ah, there we go.”

The bars shifted into four solid lines, flashing brilliantly as they locked in place. The wall contained within their boundary faded away, revealing the adjacent room. Harry grabbed Severus’ arm. “That’s him! That’s Bill! Look, he’s alright!”

Bill was leaning against the wall with a lit cigarette dangling from his lips as a familiar, waifish woman talked to him, the same one Harry had fought. Bill seemed well enough, his face expressive and lively. Harry couldn’t quite make out his words, but just seeing him alive and fully intact was enough for now.

“Do you think that woman is our culprit?” Severus asked, peering through the window.

“It has to be. That’s the same woman that attacked me. This is so excellent, Sev! He told me it didn’t happen until he took her home, so we still have plenty of time to do something.” He glanced up at Severus and hesitated at his expression. “…What?”

“ _Sev?_ ” The twisted angle of Severus’ lips seemed bemused, but his eyes were firm. Calculating. “I hadn’t realized we had already reached the affectionate pet name stage of our relationship.”

Harry couldn’t help but grin at the word ‘relationship’. “Oh, sorry, I just got excited. I mean, look—Bill’s alive!” Harry stared through the window over Severus’ shoulder. The two were still talking idly, as if they had no intention of leaving any time soon.

“How fortunate for you that you’re so adorable.” The word seemed so out of character for the man that Harry immediately glanced up. Severus was considering him with a fond expression.

“You think I’m adorable?” The comment surprised Harry, but he supposed it shouldn’t have. He remembered the way Severus had felt when he looked down on Harry’s empty body, following the Wild Hunt. To him, Harry was a rare thing, one shrouded in mysteries and tucked into a delicate frame. Harry smiled and kissed Severus on the cheek, then gasped and pulled away as his arm brushed the filthy wall. “Ugh. It’s awful in here. Let’s go sit and wait for them.”

Severus doused them in waves of cleansing magic the moment they left the bathroom, and Harry noticed he took care to touch as little of the bar as he possibly could once they had sat down. They continued to ignore their awful coffee as they waited, Harry sitting so his back pointed toward the bathrooms, Severus on lookout, peering over Harry’s shoulder. Something inside of Harry’s face continued to throb, as if the magic bubble trapped in his head was churning up a reluctant sneeze. He slipped off his glasses to massage the bridge of his nose, but the sensation wouldn’t go away. After a moment, Severus touched his arm and nodded. Harry put his glasses back on and turned just enough to glance over his shoulder, watching Bill and the woman slip outside through the fire exit, seeming completely oblivious of anything but each other.

“Let’s give them a brief head start. I’d rather catch them unaware,” Severus said as they moved toward the door. He waited a few moments before pushing it open.

The door led to a back alley. Harry blinked, his eyes adjusting to the bright sun as he looked for Bill. There was a dumpster pushed up against the wall beside them, a heap of trash bags scattered around the ground, all covered in a blanket of snow. The woman had her back to them well down the alley, pinning Bill with one hand twisted into his shirt and the other planted against the wall. Severus approached silently and Harry followed, but the woman heard them, even with the snow dampening their footsteps. She spun around, pushing her back against Bill, keeping him trapped against the wall.

Bill’s face lit up as they approached. “Oh, hey Harry! I see your interview went well.”

“Bill! Get back! She’s dangerous!” Harry rushed toward him, but Severus held out an arm, stopping him in his tracks.

“Huh? Oh, I know, mate, I’ve got this—”

The woman snarled and stepped aside. She seized Bill by his shirt collar before slashing her arm diagonally in the air in front of them. There was a loud tear, almost like an apparition crack, followed by a cold howl as a hole was ripped in space. She shoved Bill through and followed, the tear zipping shut after them.

“No!” Harry pushed past Severus, but he was too late. They were gone. He turned around, looking desperately to Severus, who was approaching the point with a hurried pace, pushing back the sleeves of his robe as he walked.

“How well do you know your friend, Harry? Could you recognize his magical signature even if you couldn’t see his body?”

Harry thought of that yellow light slipping through a deep dark sea, the little trick Bill had shown him following the first attack. The one he had tried and failed to find before. He nodded. “I’d know it if I saw it. But I don’t know how to look.”

“Leave that to me.” Severus reached into a pocket and withdrew a small cylindrical bit of white light from a tin box. It glowed so bright it burned an afterimage into Harry’s eyes as he looked away. “We don’t have time to guide you into a trance. This will serve as a shortcut.” He snapped the cylinder in half and the concentrated light splattered his fingers. He dragged his index finger down the center of Harry’s face, drawing a straight line from the top of Harry’s forehead down to his chin, then another line connecting his left ear to his right, dipping down just enough to avoid his glasses. The finger swept to the intersecting point on the bridge of Harry’s nose where both lines crossed. As the fingers pushed, Harry’s consciousness eased backward out of his head and into Someplace Else.

It was where Bill had brought him before, that same sensation of swimming through an endless dark sea. It was dark, dark, endlessly dark, just piles upon piles of oddly heavy shadow that rippled and shifted, like he was tangled in the folds of an infinitely large blanket. He pushed against the weight and called out for Bill, ignoring dozens of strange colorful sparks skittering out of view. A sliver of yellow that could only be Bill flickered past, just out of reach. Harry swam forward, but he couldn’t catch up, and the light slipped away.

The burning in his sinuses was back in full force even in the endless depths of the shadowy blanket, so strong it made his entire sense of self ache. He sneezed, hard, even though he hardly felt as if he had a discernible nose within the folds, and some of the pressure pushed out of him. Translucent magic bloomed from the center of his awareness, sweeping around him. It shot him forward, propelling him toward the yellow light. He felt like a rocket chasing a shooting star, the crackling bit of perpetual light singing with all of the life and magic that embodied Bill Weasley.

Harry reached the star, wrapped himself around it, and it burned, jerking this way and that as if trying to escape. He _pulled_ and found himself slipping through something, tunneling his way through the heavy folds of the blanket, falling against a warm thing before thudding onto something cold. His boots slipped against heavy slush, soaking him in freezing water as he fell to the ground.

He had fallen through space to land on top of Bill. Too much happened instantaneously. An apparition-like noise echoed, long and distorted, so loud it made Harry’s teeth rattle. Long legs hurried past him. Bits of gravel cut into his palms, icy-sharp and freezing, as he watched Severus grab the woman. They were in the parking lot, the one where the Corinthian had been summoned, where all of those people had been slaughtered. The place where it all began. Everything was weighed down with snow and slush, and there was a car parked near the front, but otherwise the lot was empty save for four people. Bill was kneeling in the snow beside him, breathing heavily and clutching his shoulder. A flash of color burst around the two of them, the same teal as the shield Severus had used at the comic book store. It reflected in spangled patterns off Harry’s glasses, blinding him for a moment.

A wave of blue light rushed out of Severus’ palm toward the woman, and she fell to the ground with a shrill yell. Severus strode forward and planted a boot against her sternum as a sparking net of magic spiked into the ground to hold her in place.

“You two stay back.” Severus glanced at Harry and Bill as if ensuring they were a safe distance away. It occurred to Harry that he had lost their wager, that he was far from arm’s reach, but the last thing he wanted to do was get in the way.

Severus’ confidence seemed unshakable. He crouched over the snarling woman, pinning her down, his knees pushing into the snowy pavement on either side of her shoulders, one of his hands shoved against her face. A gust of wind tossed his hair back and made his robe flare dramatically, and a sudden rush of giddiness made Harry laugh. How could one man be so utterly perfect? It was like watching a muggle action film, played out live in front of them.

The world rattled, shifted, all colors reversing, shadows becoming light and light becoming pitch-black nothing. The lines Severus had drawn across Harry’s face scorched into his skin, dribbled into his line of sight with blazing shadows. He cried out, scrubbing his face into the crook of his elbow in a desperate attempt to rid himself of the sudden agony, but it passed as quickly as it came. He looked up, watching as the shadows returned to normal. A tremendous cloud of black smoke was now billowing from the woman where she remained pinned to the ground, streaming out of her eyes and mouth. It diverted sharply around Severus before joining back together behind him, residual black steam rippling against the shield protecting Harry and Bill.

Bill began shrieking beside Harry, making him wince. “What the shit! What the _fucking shit is that?_ ”

Harry’s sinuses twitched again, and he pushed against his brow with the back of his arm. “Just hang back, mate. Sev has it under control.”

“ _Sev?_ What the fuck…”

The cloud had solidified into the shape of a man standing between their shield and Severus. Color slowly bled into his form. It was the Corinthian, same as the cardboard cutout from the comic book store, with short platinum hair, a perfect white suit, and three grinning eyes. Black fire ringed him in heavy layers. Severus stood up slowly, and the blue light that had pinned the woman twitched and lifted her off of the ground. She floated limply toward Bill and Harry, her body nudging slightly against the barrier before pushing through.

Bill caught her, dragged her onto his lap. He immediately carded his fingers through her hair, staring at the scene with a slackened jaw. “That’s… wow. And I thought that girl from the club the other night was wild.”

“Was that club girl how you got all those bite marks?” It was a wildly inane time to ask a question like that, but Harry’s nerves were dipped in gold and it was making him talkative. The Corinthian said something to Severus in a deep and rumbling voice, so deep Harry could scarcely even make out the cadence of words, let alone their language as they vibrated through the pavement.

“Yeah, mate. I told the lady I was looking for a biter, but she didn’t really get what I meant—”

“Corinthian!” Severus’ shout made Harry and Bill jump. He continued speaking, a long string of unfamiliar but deliberate-sounding words that made the Corinthian laugh.

Harry couldn’t see the Corinthian’s face, but it seemed clear by the way the monster tilted its head back, roaring with almost human-like laughter with a hand on its hip, that it didn’t feel threatened at all. The prickling in Harry’s face itched up into his scalp, filling his head with twitchy pressure, and he dug his fists against his temples, watching as a slow red glow began to thrum around Severus. It simmered around him, so deep and heavy it would have been imperceivable if not for the crisp backdrop of snow.

“Never would have guessed Snape was a bleedin’ wyrd master,” Bill whispered, absently playing with the woman’s hair as he stared, his pale face washed over with red light.

Harry was captivated by the display as the deep and barely perceivable red slid up into a brighter orange, but something within him urged him to stand up. The Corinthian wasn’t going to stay put long enough for Severus to finish what needed to be done. It was playing with him, and Severus knew it. Somehow Harry knew it, too. He crept closer, pushed through the barrier, the back of his head aching with tingling pressure. Squeezing his eyes shut, he willed the magic he felt pulsing inside of him to _push out_.

A bubble of magic spasmed up out of the top of Harry’s head, shimmering and bright, reflecting the light like a kaleidoscopic orange. It sailed forward, arching up and grasping the Corinthian by its shoulders, holding the monster in place in the shape of a giant, shining hand. The Corinthian snarled, its voice shuddering so violently that Harry had to crouch down, struggling to balance on the quaking ground, but he kept holding on, squinting his eyes and grinding his teeth as the hand squeezed around the frenzied monster.

Severus glanced at Harry as the color around him shifted into glaringly bright yellow. It melted the snow around their feet, revealing cracked black pavement, and Severus stood at its center, burning like a miniature sun. He began shouting over the rumbling sounds coming from the Corinthian, who thrashed violently in Harry’s grip. It almost broke free and Harry gasped, sending another giant hand shooting out of his chest to grab hold around its entire body.

Oh Merlin, but Severus _laughed_. He laughed in the face of the monster that had stolen Harry’s friend, and the colorful light only shone brighter and brighter around him, flooding the parking lot in vibrant green, shooting past blue into indigo, before sliding into a violet so vivid it made Harry’s eyes burn, washing out the space around them as it exploded into white. The white was stark, painfully shrill, not at all smooth and blank like the expanse outside of Harry’s memories. Crowded, filled to the absolute limit with light. The Corinthian’s shape bulged against it, flailing against Harry’s grip and screaming, but it was no use against the blinding bright _everything_.

The light vanished, taking the Corinthian with it. It all swept back toward Severus on a rush of wind, and he clasped his hands as if catching something between his palms. Harry felt a strange sense of vertigo before his hip smashed against the ground. He sprawled on his back onto the hot pavement, breathing heavily as Severus stood perfectly still, inhumanly so, his eyes squeezed shut under his furrowed brow. Harry waited, holding his breath in captivated silence.

The woman gasped, a dry and painful sound wrenching from her chest, startling Harry. He craned his head up and looked back, watched as she twitched violently and thrashed onto her side. Her eyes were normal, panicked, looking around in shock and desperation. Bill flung his arms around her. “Shush, it’s alright, you’re safe now. Don’t stand up too fast or you’ll likely—” She pulled out of his arms with a sharp cry and jumped to her feet, only to teeter and collapse back to the ground. Bill helped her sit up. “You’re okay, you’re safe now. He’s gone,” he murmured over and over as she fell against his chest to quiver against him.

Harry heard them, sort of tracked their motions from the corner of his eye, but his attention was entirely focused on Severus, who had opened his eyes. He was watching Harry with a curious expression. Harry pushed up onto his feet and stepped forward, reached out hesitantly, and Severus took his hand.

“Are you alright?” Severus asked.

Harry nodded, though his hip ached and he felt rather dazed. “That thing… Is it gone? For good?”

“It’s gone. As simple as crushing an insect, once we had it pinned. I have you to thank for that.”

Harry smiled sheepishly. “I have no idea how I did it.”

“Oh, rest assured,” Severus pulled Harry flush against him, “we will go over the entire series of events in detail later.”

Harry’s heart fluttered in his throat as he stared up at Severus. The scent of his robes was comforting, like faded incense and the faintest trace of sweat. “You were absolutely incredible.”

“As were you.” He cupped Harry’s face in his hand. “Now, go check on your friend.”

Harry stepped back, as much as he wanted to stay pressed against Severus’ hand. Bill and the woman were leaning against the sole car in the empty parking lot, outside the area of Severus’ magic, where snow still covered the pavement. The woman was fiddling with a set of keys. Bill watched Harry cross the lot, his brow furrowed and lips pursed as if on the brink of saying something. “You… huh. Looks like you two are getting along.”

“You could say that,” Harry replied, grinning in triumph and relief at seeing Bill entirely alive and uninjured.

The parking lot felt incredibly isolated. The street running alongside it was empty, but Harry realized all of that had taken place in a rather public muggle area. The woman was definitely not magical, and she looked almost sick with confusion. “Um, can I go? I don’t feel so good.” She kept fiddling with her keys, glancing at the driver’s side door. “I need to… be somewhere…”

Bill pulled his wand out of his pocket. “I’ve got this. Least I can do.” He tapped the woman on her head. “ _Obliviate_.”

Her expression cleared, and she stared blankly at Bill as he explained that she had run out for some groceries, but had forgotten her purse and needed to return home as soon as she felt well enough to drive. She nodded slowly and got into her car, staring down at the wheel without starting the engine. Bill jerked his head aside, and the three moved away from the car to stand beside the chain link fence circling the lot. Bill watched the car as he spoke. “Hopefully she lets herself sit a moment before she goes driving off. Don’t want her causing some accident…” He swung his head around to look at Harry. “So, uh… What the fuck was that?”

“Severus just saved your life. You, ah—” Harry stopped, the sudden image of Bill’s blood hitting the living room wall making him bite back his words. Bill didn’t need to know that he had died. Or did he? “That is—”

Hands clasped Harry’s shoulder. Severus had stepped behind him and Harry relaxed, leaning back slightly as Severus spoke. “It seems the Ministry took too long to take action against what should have been a mild astral pest, so I was forced to step in.” His voice rumbled against Harry’s back. “Harry and I traveled through time to ensure everything was resolved before the matter got out of hand.”

Bill was staring at them in open amazement, and Harry melted as Severus dragged a hand through his hair. “You mean to tell me you managed to travel through time? How far?”

“Two weeks,” Severus replied, his fingers tracing lazy circles against Harry’s scalp.

“ _Two bleeding weeks?_ That’s… blimey. Good catch, Harry. You found a keeper,” Bill said. He seemed fascinated, but exhaustion washed over his face as the woman finally started her car and pulled out of the parking lot. “Hope she’ll be alright, the poor thing. Well, I’m glad you two showed up. That was a whole lot more to deal with than the river spirits had told me. And that was some bloody impressive magic, both of you… I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

“What are you going to do now?” Harry felt compelled to ask, even as he was distracted by the hands trailing down his shoulders.

Bill looked down at his feet, shaking his head. “I…” He turned in a slow circle, kicking a piece of ice and watching it spin away. “I’ve been thinking about getting out of town, maybe go pay Percy a visit. Would you be alright without me for a while?”

“That sounds like a great idea. Give him my best, would you?” Harry had asked Bill about visiting family weeks ago, and Bill had constantly resisted. He wondered if any part of Bill was aware that things hadn’t turned out so well for him in the original instance in time, if it was making him reconsider his stubbornness, but that line of thought only reminded Harry of the train tracks, of those infinite possible branching paths and his own muddied memories. He wouldn’t wish that sort of awareness on anybody.

“Yeah, I’ll let him know you said hi.” Bill frowned, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I want to say that I could have handled that thing myself, but I’m guessing you two traveled through time right before I faced it for a reason. So... thanks. Is it gone for good?”

“In a way,” Severus replied, resting his hands on Harry’s shoulders. “The Corinthian exists as a drawing and a name associated with a piece of fiction. I simply ended its narrative on our side of the page. It could return, I suppose, but ideally the only people willing to bring it back already died in this parking lot.”

“That makes absolutely no sense, but I’ll take your word for it,” Bill said with a laugh. “So what about the other possessed people? There had to have been a few.”

“All perfectly fine, assuming they weren’t already harmed,” Severus replied smoothly. “I severed every connection it had made to our world.”

“Wicked,” Bill said, grinning.

“So what was it, anyway?” Harry asked, leaning back against Severus.

“An aberration in the world,” Severus said. “The same as any other astral pest that manages to seize the imagination of some hapless magician and force its way out. It just so happens that this one was especially potent. I suppose that is because of the narrative it came from, not to mention its opportunity to feed immediately upon accessing the physical plane. In the story, it was originally a sentient nightmare sent out amongst humans to teach us a lesson, but it neglected its purpose and sought out senseless murder instead. This mirrors what just transpired, in a way. The similarities must have allowed it to gain enough strength to evade the authorities. These things happen from time to time, but it _is_ rather unusual. The Ministry usually acts quite quickly when something like this turns up. When exactly did you two report this?”

Harry hadn’t known any of that, but then again, he wasn’t the one reading comic books in the bath. He realized Bill looked distressed, and Severus was quiet, waiting for a response. _Right_. That report they never filed. “Hmm, yes, well, Imbolc and all. Busy time of the year for the department, you know. I’m sure they were… preoccupied.”

Severus’ grip tightened on Harry’s arms. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not telling me something?”

“It was all my fault,” Bill said, staring down at his feet. “I thought we could handle it, so I told Harry not to worry.”

“Do you mean to tell me that you never reported this?” Severus’ grip tightened even more, almost painfully so.

Bill nodded. “Yes, and I dispelled the magic signature it left on this lot too, since we were there to steal evidence and didn’t want to be tracked down. All my idea.” Bill grinned at Harry. “Well, thanks again. I’m off to bother a long-lost brother now. Good luck, mate.”

He apparated away, leaving Harry alone with an extremely displeased Severus.

“Stealing evidence, Mr. Potter? And here I thought I had hired a respectable man. A monster hunter of the highest repute.” Severus’ voice dripped with sarcasm as he released his grip on Harry’s arms.

Harry hoped humor could help diffuse the situation, and thought over a potential quip as he turned around to face Severus, but the man looked less irritated than he sounded. “You’ve got to admit, that was impressive. What I did with those magic hands, I mean.”

Harry’s breath pushed out of his chest as he was slammed against the chain-link fence on the edge of the lot. It rattled metallic and cold against his back, his boots sinking through a thin layer of snow. Severus stared down at him, his mouth close enough to fog Harry’s glasses as he spoke, fingers curled into Harry’s collar. “I must say I’m more than impressed. That involved a remarkable amount of magic, and you are still so rough and unpolished…” He leaned forward, burying his face against Harry’s throat, breathing in deeply. “I’m half tempted to hide us away in my attic for the next two weeks, instead of taking us back.”

“What’s so special about the attic?” Harry asked, sliding his arms into Severus’ open robe. _So warm_.

“Well, it’s soundproof, for one,” Severus replied, cupping Harry’s face in one hand. He leaned in, claiming Harry’s lips with a brief but searing kiss. A golden gleam flashed through his irises when he pulled away. “We could spend the time focusing on your training, without being interrupted by work.”

The chain link fence creaked against the back of Harry’s head. “As long as that involves finishing what we started earlier, I’m all for it.”

“Believe me, that is the first item on our schedule. But we’ll have to stay hidden the entire time. Blitzy will know, of course, but I’d rather avoid the nuisance of explaining myself to myself. At least until the end.”

“A house as big as yours, I’m sure it won’t be a problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooohooo intensity. Much thanks to everybody hanging on after all of that! Your comments are like food and I'd very much love to know what you think so far.


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